Seasons May Change
by savingophelia
Summary: Emma Swan and Regina Mills are princesses of neighbouring kingdoms. From a young age they formed a close bond, but as they grow they learn that things are never easy. With Regina facing unwanted marriage, Emma struggling to conform to the expectations of a leader, and a country crumbling into war, can a promise made by a child of summer keep through winter? SQ EF AU. Now complete!
1. Chapter 1

**A/N ~** Welcome, swens! You would not believe the pain I went through to be posting this now. All I will tell you is please, please back up your writing. Because sometimes, tablets crash and die and you have to rewrite everything. As this is set in the Enchanted Forest, I have taken some artistic licence with culture and wordlbuilding and given all the rando kingdoms names. Also, Snow and Charming are just a little younger than Cora here. I have this planned at about twenty two chapters. Enjoy! Feedback is always appreciated.

 **1.**

"Come along, dear. And don't _gape_ so."

"But Mama..."

"Mother, Regina, you're not a baby anymore."

Regina clutched Daddy's hand harder, struggling to keep up with her mother's purposeful strides. She didn't even know what gape _meant_. Just another thing wrong with her, she supposed. But for just one moment, dwarfed by the cavernous ceilings and ornate fixtures of the White Palace, she didn't care. It was so pretty here - prettier even than Grandfather's castle, and twice as big, easy. She craned her head to look at the ceiling, way up above her. Pale gold curtains of shifting sunlight filtered through the dyed-glass windows, set deep in the smooth brick, fragmenting against the glass and falling in a shower of colour against the floor. Slender arches stretched up the walls with a sentient languidness, ending in a spray of marble and glass, so intricate she couldn't even begin to imagine making it. Regina stared. This kingdom was strange. It was wonderful. It had the all-encompassing vastness of something new.

Callendor wasn't new, of course. It was one of the original kingdoms, from way back in the history books when the Enchanted Forest was just beginning. But it was new to Regina. Mama – no, _Mother_ – and Daddy had been here dozens of times before, to discuss crops or trade – whatever _those_ were. Usually they just left her at home with her nanny. This was the first time she'd been allowed to join them. The whole ride here, Regina had gazed out the window of Mama's wheelhouse, watching the endless countryside roll past. It was all lush fields and forest, scattered with small villages and fashionable towns that had looked like building blocks abandoned on the horizon. She saw nothing of her own reflection in the glass but the verdant world outside. She had the near-sightedness of youth.

She stared up at the detailed pictures on the windows. Regina held on tighter to Daddy's hand, falling anxiously behind him a little. It was all so pretty and clean and good and she wasn't allowed to ruin anything. Daddy gave her hand a reassuring squeeze as another pang of nerves struck her. She'd met plenty of important people before, and yet... _The king and queen of Callendor._ Grandfather was a king too, of Xalvadarr, her home kingdom. But he wasn't as important. She thought it was because they didn't have as much land or money or something. She didn't understand it, but Queen Snow White was a big deal. The seething mass of anxiety writhed in her tummy. They were running out of hallway. Her blood felt uncomfortably hot. She didn't want to ruin anything. She just couldn't help it sometimes when she forgot things or didn't know what the right thing was. Even though Mama had spent all morning picking her dress (which had been fun) and fixing her hair (which had hurt), she could help but feel very small and very plain surrounded by all these lovely things.

"Come _along_ , Regina," Mama snapped, snatching her hand from Daddy's and dragging her along faster as they approached the gaping archway into the hall. They passed four guards in the flower-and-lion crest as they entered. Regina felt her eyes widen as she took in the enormous painted ceiling – but she felt her tummy drop when she saw the trio in the centre of the room. _The king and queen_. Regina dared a glance up at her mother, which yielded nothing. The flashing eyes and hard scowl she was used to had been replaced by a frosty smile and grimly determined stare. She had taken off Mama's face, Regina thought, and put on the face of Lady Cora.

"Welcome!" The woman in the middle of the room stepped forward first, with a wide white smile that seemed more real than Mama's did. Regina squinted at her. She was very pretty, but she supposed she ought to be if she was queen. The white gown she wore matched the tiara in her long dark hair. Regina stood solidly and looked up at her. Mama was holding her hand too tight, as usual. It hurt. Her free hand danced behind her back, fiddling with the ribbon of her dress. She'd liked her dress this morning – it was pretty, the colour of the sky – but now, looking at the king and queen in their finery, she wasn't so sure. "It's been too long. Might I present my husband, the Prince Consort David?" The queen gestured to the tall blond man beside her. Regina frowned uncertainly. She didn't know what a prince consort was. She just thought he was the king. Why couldn't anything be _simple_? That way she might remember something and be good. She turned her attention back to the towering ceiling. The Prince Consort thingy stepped forward to smile and kiss Mama's free hand.

Regina peered out from around Mama's skirts again. That might have been the wrong thing to do; Queen Snow White caught her eye and lit up with a wider smile, one that reached her eyes, leaning forewords toward her. She glanced up at Mama. "And who's this?"

Regina shrank back uncertainly. That was definitely the wrong thing to do. She knew as soon as she did it. Mama's hard eyes hardened, the grim line of her mouth twitched. She dug her fingers tighter into Regina's skin, fingernails twisting painfully as she yanked her foreword. "This is my daughter, the Princess Regina." Mama always said that, Regina reflected. _My_ daughter. As if she somehow belonged to her more than she did to Daddy. "She's only five, you must excuse her manners. _Regina_ , say hello." Mama hissed.

Regina said hello.

"Oh, I fear I am well used to the antics of children." Snow White smiled graciously and gestured behind her to a girl Regina hadn't been looking at before. Her curiosity for her surroundings had been eclipsed by the queen. "This is my daughter, the Princess –"

"I'm Emma!" Emma announced. Regina squinted at her. She was trying to decide if she liked her or not. She was _supposed_ to be a princess, but she didn't really look like one. She was wearing a pretty green dress, but she had an ugly leather belt around it, with a wooden toy sword stuck through it like the ones the boys back home played with. Her long blonde curls were all messy, going in her face and everything. Regina didn't want to think about what Mama would do if she let her hair get like that. And she wore the biggest, gap-toothed grin Regina had ever seen. "I'm five, too!"

Before Regina could even react, the other princess had lunged foreword and grabbed her hand in her own, bringing it to her lips to plant a small, solid kiss on the back of it.

Regina stared. Something was wrong, she knew. She could tell by the sudden quiet that fell upon the grown-ups, the strange looks. She caught the queen exchange an amused glance with her husband before she turned down to address her daughter. "Emma, sweetie. That's not really necessary for five year olds."

Emma's face fell. "But you said follow by example and Dad just -" She cried, aghast. Her green eyes widened, shining with disbelief as her mouth fell slightly open.

"I know, honey –"

"But you said!" Emma whined. She folded her arms in front of her with a huff, blowing a flyaway strand of hair from her face. Regina stared, enraptured. If she ever acted like that in front of guests, Mama would have been so furious. And then, as if the idea had just occurred to her, Emma wiped her mouth on the back of her hand. "Fine. It was a yucky thing to do anyway."

-0-

Emma glared sullenly at the new people.  
She was still trying to decide whether or not she liked them. Well, the man and the little girl, at least. The lady didn't seem very nice at all; Emma would have hated to have had a mother like that. The girl had kind of drifted back behind the lady's dress again, purposefully avoiding Emma's hard, roaming stare. _Stupid_. Emma could still feel the prickling burn crawling across her cheeks. Her skin felt all hot and tight. _You stupid_. She didn't even know why she kissed her – it was a stupid thing to do. And it was _gross_. She didn't even know why grown-ups did it.  
Regina, they said her name was. That was a pretty name, at least. She was pretty, Emma thought, with her dark curls hanging over the shoulders of her pale blue frock. She watched her swing anxiously on the balls of her feet with her hands fiddling behind her back. _She's probably just as embarrassed as you are. Stupid._

"Emma, sweetie, we have to go in for our meeting now," Emma jerked back to life, staring up into her mother's eyes. She was leaning down to look at her with a softness in her eyes like she was trying to make her feel better about it all. Well, she didn't need it. She was _fine_. "We'll come find you after, okay?"

"Hey squirt, why don't you show Regina your nursery?" Her dad suggested with his smile fixed in place. He ruffled her hair. "You got some pretty cool stuff in there."

Emma frowned. She knew what that meant! She was five whole years old, practically nearly six, and she wasn't stupid. They were trying to get rid of her. And she couldn't do anything about it. She sighed. It wasn't as if what they were doing was going to be much fun, anyway. And Regina couldn't be so bad. Besides, Emma liked making friends. She liked talking to people – she talked to everybody that came through the palace, or the town; grizzled freeriders and hunters dressed all in green, farmers and merchants dragging carts with their wares for the market, squires between practises in the training yard. The squires were the best: they were going to be knights someday. And knights were always honourable and chivalrous. Emma sighed, nodding resolutely. "Okay."

"Okay, squirt. We won't be too long."

Then they were gone, and she was left alone with this strange girl she shouldn't have kissed. For a long time, everything was quiet. Emma danced awkwardly on her tiptoes, trying to think of something to say, but Regina beat her to it. "Are we going to go to your nursery?" She asked, wide-eyed and unsmiling.

"No. Nurseries are for babies." Emma told her, and pulled a face. She didn't know why her parents insisted on keeping her nursery all set up for her. She was a big girl after all, now she finally had her own proper chambers with a grown-up bed and her own furs and everything. She tried to think of something they'd both like. Why did they always have to leave her to _everything_? It was exasperating. Emma finally looked over at her, sheepishly scuffing her toe along the floor. "Sorry I kissed you."

"That was okay." Regina shrugged her narrow shoulders, and then folded her arms, looking the opposite direction. "It just wasn't very nice of you to say it was yucky."

"I didn't mean it!" Emma cried, hurrying to amend herself. She suddenly felt more ashamed of her reaction than the actual kiss. "I was just embarrassed, I guess."

Regina turned to stare at her then, eyes wide and reproachful. Emma waited, wondering. A small, shy smile curled at the corners of Regina's mouth. "That's alright."

Emma couldn't help it – a grin fell back into place on her face and behind it too, in that special invisible place Mommy said her feelings were. The idea didn't take long to surface in her mind after that, flotsam on the black sea. She latched onto it. "Hey, you wanna see something cool?" Regina nodded eagerly. "We gotta go sit on the windowsill to see it, though.

"Okay." Regina agreed, with an uncertain smile.

"It's over here!" She sung, grabbing Regina's hand in her own to show her as she ran across the flagstones towards the window, pulling her along the wide grey flagstones behind her.

"You're going too fast!" Regina protested, giggling breathlessly as she struggled to keep up.

"You're just a slowpoke." Emma shrugged, skidding to a stop before the window. "But I don't mind." She smiled, looking over at her to see her response and finding only uncertainty. Regina was staring up at the ledge of the window sill with a nerves shining in her eyes, tiny fists balled in the fabric of her skirts. "I can help you up if you want. You just have to jump when I say." Regina nodded, reaching up to grab the ledge. Emma placed her hands on Regina's back. "Now." She watched in anticipation as Regina hauled herself onto the windowsill, and deftly clamoured up after her.

Emma settled back against the glass. This wasn't really _so_ interesting to her. Emma preferred archery to art. Her favourite games were the ones she played with the boys and girls from the village, pretending duels with their wooden swords. She liked running and chasing, exploring the abandoned wings of the palace like the heroes in the stories, playing at monsters and knights. But she had a feeling this was something Regina would like. She looked sideways at the other princess. Regina was sitting rigidly on the edge of the stone sill, small fists fiercely gripping the edge so tight her knuckles were whitening. The window behind them was one of the stained ones, with the pictures, and the sunlight that streamed through shattered against it, remade in green and purple and blue. The colours washed over Regina's skin, dancing against her hair. It gave her an ethereal cast, angelic, almost. Like a fairy. (Not that Emma had met many fairies. That was all Mommy.) "Are you okay?"

Regina nodded. It took her a while to reply. "I just shouldn't get my dress messy." She paused. "I'll be in trouble."

"You won't, pinky swear." Emma vowed solemnly. "It's fine, see." Then she smiled, just to show Regina that it was all okay. That was what her mother did for her when she got sad. And it always, _always_ helped. "You still wanna see the cool thing? Lean your heads back against the window, like this." Emma demonstrated, craning her neck against the glass. "And then look up there." She pointed in the right direction. Beside her, Regina gasped happily.

The ceiling of the hall was painted a hundred years ago, by a hundred artists. There was a book in the library with all their names in, but Emma never read it. She liked the scary stories, or the ones about knights going on quests. That didn't make the pictures any less beautiful, though; stars and leaves and fruit and angels spread out across the roof, carefully painted by a hundred brushes. Nestled amongst the drawings of horses and trees was Emma's favourite picture, the woman in the crown, eyes closed as if sleeping. From this position, this angle, with your head back right, the rainbow light from the window hit her in such a way that it looked just like she had a halo, some rainbow aura. " _Wow_ ," Regina breathed. "That is _wonderful_."

"Yep. Better than some nursery anyway." Emma swung her legs against the stone of the wall. _Someday_ , she thought, _my feet will touch the ground when I sit here._

"Why do you have a sword?" Regina asked suddenly, after a long awed silence.

Emma felt her spirits lift, grinning widely. "'Cause I'm gonna be a knight." Her hand came to rest on carved pommel of her sword, bouncing on the stone ledge. Why was it that saying things always made them seem more real? It was like the words were gods, to destroy and create. "And knights have to have swords so they can fight monsters."

"Oh. Okay." She might not have had the _best_ judgement, but she swore Regina looked a tiny bit impressed. Regina frowned. "Can girls be knights?"

"Yeah!" Emma nodded vigorously. "My dad says I can be anything that I want. So I'm gonna be a knight and go on adventures."

"Oh." The light dropped from Regina's eyes as the smile fell away from her mouth. "Mother says I'm to be queen when I'm grown up." Her voice sounded very strained, and her small shoulders seemed to curl forwards with the weight of even the thought.

Emma frowned. She looked sad. "Don't you want to be?"

"I don't think I'd be very good at it." Regina confessed. "Mam – Mother doesn't make it sound very fun."

"Well..." Emma considered. "I'm my parents only child, which means I'm gonna have to be queen sometime too. But I'm gonna be a knight as well. I'm gonna _make_ it fun." She tried a smile. Regina's eyes were a thousand different shades of brown, a spectrum of the earth. "You can make it fun too."

"Truly?" Regina stared. It was almost like she'd never thought of that before.

"Truly." Emma flashed a grin. "Hey, you wanna go see the grey tower with me? It's so high, you can see all the way to the sea."

That was the first time she saw Regina's smile light her up.

-0-

It took six months for them to see each other again. Six months can seem to drag on for an age, particularly when you're a child, but it never seemed that way to Regina. When they told her they were all going to the join the celebrations at the White Palace, the time she'd spent away from it vanished.

Regina had tried to stay still like a good girl the whole journey over the border (even though every rock and crevice in the road sent her jolting around the bench in the carriage) but it was _hard_ when she was so excited. She watched the fields and the flowers fly past beyond the thick pale glass and tried not to bounce around in her seat. _She was going to see Emma again_. The whole country was celebrating the birth of Queen Snow White's first son, Prince Neal – apparently the queen had been pregnant when Regina met her. (That was confusing. She thought you were supposed to get fat when you were going to have a baby. It was like Mother always said, she really didn't know anything.) By the time they arrived in the outer courtyard of the White Palace, Regina was practically dancing, she was so excited. She was nervous, too – there was still a knot in her tummy tied up with doubts. But it didn't matter so much, because she was so happy, and her heart felt all sparkly with anticipation. She wasn't afraid anymore.

When the valet opened the door for them, Regina leapt to her feet, grasping Daddy's hand and clambering down the carriage steps after Mother, blinking in the sudden sunlight. All around them, the palace was buzzing with life and joy. Dozens and dozens of carriages were all lined up on the cobblestones, servants weaving between them carrying trunks and bolts of cloth. The air was crisp and clean with a heaviness that hinted at the coming summer. Regina stared around anxiously, searching.

"Regina dear, I thought we'd agreed no more of that wretched fidgeting," Mother sighed, adjusting her hair and stalking out across the yard. Regina tried not to look around, forcing her gaze back down to the ground. Daddy gave her hand a reassuring squeeze, thumb rubbing across her knuckles, before he followed suit.

It didn't take long for Regina to spot the queen and her husband, standing at the top of the great marble steps before the doorway, greeting their guests. She craned to catch a glimpse, tummy fluttering. When they got closer, she could see the bundle of cloth in Snow White's arms. The baby prince, she thought. And beside them, fidgeting and scowling on the polished stone, was the princess. Her heart leapt. _Emma_. Regina couldn't help the grin that broke across her face. Emma hadn't noticed her yet. She tried a shy wave, small enough so Mother wouldn't notice. She swallowed, wrapping her fingers tighter around Daddy's. What if Emma forgot about her? Regina stopped waving. She hadn't thought of that before. Mother rarely let Regina leave the estate, the only other children she knew were the kitchen maids' babies but she wasn't allowed to speak to them. But Emma was the princess, and she must have dozens of other little girls to play with, Emma – Emma's face lit up.

Like there was some inner light that had been turned on. _She saw her_! Emma launched into action, scrambling to run down the stairs two at a time. The queen turned to say something to her but she had a fond smile on her face, and she couldn't really do anything with the baby prince her arms. In an instant, Emma was flying at her across the cobblestones.

Regina knew it was bad but she couldn't help it. She wormed free of Daddy's grasp, breaking away and running across the stones. She stumbled to a breathless stop in front of the princess; Emma did no such thing. She catapulted forewords, grabbing Regina in a bear hug. "P'incess Gina!" She cried, skinny arms wrapped tight around her middle like a vice. "You came back!"

"I came back," Regina giggled, into Emma's neck, trying to avoid getting a mouthful of hair. Emma finally released her, looking very pleased with herself. "I'm six now!"

"I'm gonna be six soon, too!" Emma announced, grinning widely. "And I lost another tooth, look!"

"Wow," Regina breathed. "I haven't lost any yet." She sighed, looking at Emma. She hadn't changed much in their time apart. But something was different. Her yellow hair was still long and loose and tangled around her familiar face; her eyes were still the colour of the sea and sparkling with excitement. She wore an different dress this time, but – then she realized. "You don't have your sword!" She exclaimed. "Are you still going to be a knight queen?"

"Of course I am!" Emma cried, indignant. "Just cause I have a baby brother now, I'm still eldest so I'm still gonna be queen, my parents said. And I'm still gonna be a knight so I'm still gonna fight monsters and stuff. Are you still gonna be queen, too?"

All of the excitement buzzing around her veins shrivelled up. "I think so," Regina sighed.

Then, as if she had sensed her misery and magnetized towards it, her mother fell upon them, snatching up Regina's wrist in her cold grasp. "We must be inside. Regina, dear, do stop bothering the princess."

And then Emma Swan did the bravest, best thing she could have done. She walked right up to Regina's mother, unafraid, with her wide grin still in place. "She wasn't bothering me, Miss." Her smile widened earnestly. "Regina's my friend."

 _Friend_ , Regina thought. The word stayed with her long after she was gone.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N ~** I'll warn you now that the first few chapters of this will be mostly about Emma and Regina growing up, skimming over their childhood with several time skips before the actual plot starts. The groundwork is necessary. And adorable. If they're OOC it's because I'm working off canon young Regina and Emma, and then altering that to fit the AU. Their canonesque development is a big factor later on and they'll be more familiar, promise. know this is a mammoth of a chapter, but it just worked out this way as I had no good place to cut it off.

 **2.**

"We really shouldn't –"

"It's gonna be fine,"

"I don't think this is such a good idea –"

"I've done this loads of times before." Emma stopped suddenly in the corridor, rounding on her friend. Her voice echoed off the stone walls and bounced around them. "Look, it's going to be okay and you won't get in any trouble, pinky swear. Everybody knows you can't break a pinky swear." She held out her hand to Regina, little finger extended. Regina stared at it doubtfully. Emma sighed. "I you _really_ don't want to then we can do something else. You know I wouldn't even let you if it wasn't safe."

"I want – _let me_?"

Emma suppressed a grin. She knew that the _let you_ would convince her.  
It had been a nearly two years since Prince Neal's nameday ball, where she and Regina had become inseparable. After a string of feasts and councils and balls here at home and in Xalvadarr, it hadn't taken long for her to start counting down the days until their next visit. And it never occurred to her to think it strange for her to befriend somebody so different. Most of her friends were knights' sons, boys from the village and girls more like her. People she could play knights with, or go swimming in the creek, or hunt for ghosts in the crypts. Regina was calmer, more proper and thoughtful, and stubborn as a mule, although Emma had quickly learned that the things she said and the way she thought challenged the world as much as she did. Out of her mother's earshot, of course.  
It was Regina's first visit this year. Her parents had been invited to her parents' ball. It was one of the so-called 'grown up balls' that they still weren't old enough to go to, but Emma had written them to let Regina come anyway, since they were already going to make the journey. She'd been surprised it had worked. If there was one thing she'd learned about Lady Cora the past few years it was that she didn't like being told what to do.

"It's really safe," Emma assured her again. With all the grown ups busy preparing for the festivities, she had the perfect opportunity to show Regina the broken tower. There was a whole wing of the castle that had been abandoned hundreds of years ago, fallen into disrepair. And it was by far the coolest thing Emma had ever seen. At the end of the hallway, the entrance to it gaped, huge and black and beckoning. Inside, there were no lights, and the stairs wound on for ages, opening out onto the top of the tower. She didn't think anyone else had been up there for hundreds of years. "But it is dark and really, really, really, _really_ tall and if you're scared I won't make you –"

"I want to!" Regina insisted defensively. She wasn't exactly dressed for climbing after all, in her velvet-trimmed frock, dark hair braided back with a ribbon. She fixed her stare on Emma and she knew that in that moment she'd decided to be the best explorer the Enchanted Forest had ever seen. When Regina made her mind up about something there was no turning back. Emma liked that about her. "I'm not even scared a little bit, _see_."  
And with that, Regina spun on her heels and walked right into the darkness, fists curled at her sides. Emma smiled in incredulously after her for a moment before following her into the black.

Inside the base of the tower, it was like a perfect bubble, cut off from the rest of the world. Like being swallowed up by the past. Everything else went away. You could tell straight away that nobody had been here for years. The air had settled thickly with the dust, like it knew this was no place for warm living things. The iron sconces on the walls had not been lit for hundreds of years. But the staircase was sound, and though the stone crumbled if you scraped it, the broken tower was perfectly stable. She didn't even know why they called it that. Emma thought it had something to do with one of the stories in the library, about some ancient princess she was probably related to. She never read it, anyway. "Regina?"

"I'm here." Regina's voice called, somewhere in the darkness.

"Okay," Emma followed the sound cautiously through the black. The cold here was a living thing, skating over her skin.

" _Ah_!" Regina hissed. "That was my foot!"

"Sorry!" Emma winced. "What's this?"

"That's my nose." Regina's voice had dropped to a whisper, even though there was nobody around. Maybe she just didn't want to disturb the ghosts.

"Oh," Emma swallowed. She fumbled blindly in the darkness for a moment, before encountering familiar warmth. "Is this your hand?"

"Yes."She said she wasn't afraid, but her small fingers gripped Emma's like she was a life raft (and Emma didn't mind). Regina might have been eight now, but she couldn't fool Emma, even in the dark. Here in such complete darkness, a void that filled everything up, nothing else mattered. This was somewhere else, a perfectly preserved capsule beyond the confines of time or circumstance. All her worries and doubts fell away. There was only her breathing, and Regina breathing, and their hearts beating out of time.

Emma stepped over to where she thought the wall was, careful not to go too fast. Her free, outstretched hand skimmed solid stone and her heart leapt, a triumphant grin falling onto her face. _Yes_! She followed the wall a few paces, and lifted her foot experimentally. It met hard rock. She stepped up, blood singing with her victory. "I found the stairs, 'Gina. You just have to step up."

Regina's hand shifted under her skin as she levelled with her on the first step, and then twisted as she passed her. Emma hurried up the next stairs so as not to break contact. "What are you doing?"

"I know where the steps are now," Regina whispered, like she was so stupid. "I told you, I'm not even scared one bit." Emma felt the smile curl at her mouth as she followed Regina blindly up the staircase. Though it must have taken a while to reach the top of the towers, it didn't feel like longer than a minute, and it disappeared entirely when it was done.

Emma and Regina broke out into the blinding sunlight hand in hand. After the darkness of the tower the air seemed very cool and sweet and so bright it burned. Like heaven. She stood, blinking painfully in the light and watched as, slowly, a wide, awestruck smile spread across her friends face. Regina ran over to the wall, small hands clasping the stone tight and rising to her toes with the spring breeze lifting stray strands of her dark hair. She smiled incredulously, staring out at the land with the whole world reflected in her eyes, and in that moment, Regina Mills finally looked like a child.

She hurried to join her, laying her hands on the cold stone parapet and leaning back from it, squinting in the glaring onset of the sun, across the countryside. Regina turned to her, almost excitedly. "It's so beautiful."

Emma stared at her. _Yes_ , she thought placidly, _so beautiful._

Emma nodded her agreement, casting her gaze over the wall. The Callendor countryside spread out to the horizon in all directions, an endless tapestry of farmland and forest. The air was crisp and bright with a heaviness that hinted at the looming summer. That was when the world really came into its own. Black branches laden with buds fat to bursting with new life tore at a changing sky, while somewhere below, daffodils and dandelions were pushing through the dirt for their first breath of life. Crops rose and swayed beneath the nurturing caress of the sun. Orchards ripe with fruit would prosper with the farms that were always Emma's favourite to visit and their new animals, the baby sheep that never ran out of energy. Like you, her dad always said. She watched pale smoke spiral from distant hearths, billowing out in ghostly curtains and marring the lilac clouds. Such vastness. It just went on and on.

"Someday, all of this will be yours," Regina said, looking out at the horizon and giving voice to Emma's thoughts.

 _That's a whole lot of mine_. Emma had never thought of it like that before. She just assumed she could be a knight and go on quests and have adventures whenever she liked. She was going to be queen. She could make the rules. Couldn't she? There were a lot of people in her kingdom, and someday it would fall to her to look after them all. Emma glanced sideways at Regina, through the handfuls of blonde hair the breeze scattered across her face. She couldn't even look after one person right. Emma scraped at the stone beneath her fingers. "Why are you so scared of your mama?"

Regina's face fell. Something in her eyes shifted, and her fingers must have tightened on the rock of the parapet because her small knuckles were turning white. That was the wrong thing to say. Emma swallowed. She was never any good at courtesies. The manners – formalities, her mother called them – that were just expected were lost on her. Even Dad, who had been born a _shepherd_ , was better than she was. Regina's shoulders gave a tiny shrug. When she spoke, her voice was just as big. "I'm not."

If she hadn't been listening so hard she would never have heard it. "Yes you are." Emma insisted, sighing. She turned to Regina then, catching her gaze and refusing to let it go. The next words poured out of her like blood from a wound, stumbling into each other, like if she didn't say them now she never would. "Don't lie to me, Regina. I don't like it. It's not good. We shouldn't lie to each other."

"Okay." Regina nodded slightly, hand on her stomach. Her eyes were a thousand shades of brown.

"You gotta promise." Emma urged. She didn't know why but the feeling in her stomach and her chest told her this was important. "You gotta swear not to lie to me."

Regina was still squinting in the light, blinking over at her while the wind made her dress and the dark ends of her hair flutter around her. "And you won't ever lie to me?" She checked cautiously.

"I'll never." Emma vowed, gaze never leaving hers.

Regina nodded, dark eyes fierce in her small face. "I promise."

-0-

Regina arrived at the palace while the harvest celebrations were blossoming.  
It had to be one of the most magical times of the year by far; the journey from their estate had been absolutely wonderful. This year, Callendor was to host the largest harvest celebration yet – and the princess had written her invitation specially. Usually, Regina's grandfather would hold a great ball and a feast in honour of their prospering lands, and they'd spend the week in his castle with all her family, and not even see any of the land at all. But Grandfather was getting old now – too old to deal with all that. A few of Regina's elder uncles had stayed behind with him, but most of the nobles, familiar faces from home, travelled with them.

There was an air of festivity about the world, she thought, jolting around on the cushions of Mother's carriage. Beyond the window, the earth was lush and green. The endless trees towering above them all, the meadows that exploded in a storm of colour, rushing rivers accompanying a birdsong symphony and fields dancing beneath the hard golden sunlight were almost enough to distract her from Mother's fussing. Though she spent most of the journey safely inside the carriage, she had been allowed to mount her pony for a time and ride out with the column, and it had been magical. Surrounded by golden air humming with life, amongst all her uncles and cousins, people she knew, calling her _little princess_ and tossing her apples they picked from the orchards, she could almost be happy.  
It had been more than a year now since she and Emma had exchanged their promise. They'd seen each other several times between then and now, but Regina still couldn't help wondering. She'd kept her promise. She hoped Emma had kept hers.

When she arrived, with a grin on her face and her heartbeat tangled around her ribs, the palace seemed more alive than she'd ever seen it. Cooks and kitchen hands and potboys ran about with deliveries still in their sacks, balancing stacks of platters and plates between them. Ladies maids with bolts of cloth jostled for room in the high-ceilinged hallways with squires dressed in the livery of a hundred different knights. Garlands of flowers festooned every archway, every frame. The low buzz of close conversation never died. Emma, apparently, was lunching with her brother when they arrived, so it was a maid who led them to their rooms, but Regina didn't mind. She'd be here nearly two weeks, anyway. That would be the longest consecutive time she'd spent with her. She hoped Emma wouldn't get tired of her.

The maid showed them to their rooms; Regina was to stay in her own compact chambers, all by herself, with her own hearth and a huge window with drapes of bright blue silk. Directly opposite her parents' but her own nonetheless. When the maid held the door for her, she leaned over to tell her, "Princess Emma requested you stay here, special." That made Regina's tummy flutter.

It was there she waited now, trunk unpacked, for Mother to come and collect her for tea with some of the other ladies guesting for the harvest. Regina lay out on the thick furs of the unfamiliar bed, and stared at the vaulted ceiling, wondering. She felt like a bee in her little piece of the busy, thrumming hive. Like she was part of something. For the first time, her excitement was outweighing her worries. Two whole weeks of feasts, and balls, and a special tourney in honour of the rich harvest. Of course, that was also two weeks of _posture, for goodness' sake,_ and _stupid girl, you'd better not be so obtuse in front of anybody of importance_ and _don't smile like that until your tooth comes in, you know how ugly it looks_. The White Palace, Callandor, the crowds - it all shielded her from truly harsh punishments. Mother would never use magic on her here; she could hardly risk bruising her and ruining her skin with all these public events lined up. But nothing could ever stop her from speaking. And that always seemed to hurt more

A sharp knock on the door startled her out of her thoughts.

 _Mother_. Regina leapt up, sparing a moment to glance in the silver-framed looking glass, smoothing her dress down and checking her hair hadn't got all tangled, before scrambling to answer it. Heart speeding up ever so slightly, she closed her hand over the brass doorknob and opened.

"Call for a princess?"

"Emma!" Regina exclaimed, worries all vanishing into thin air. Before she had time to even think about it, she'd thrown her arms around the other girls' neck and buried her face in her golden hair. She'd been so relieved to see her, to not see Mother, to be here with her again. Months had passed since that last time they'd seen one another, at a feast in Grandfather's castle, for his birthday. She never realized how much she missed her until she saw her again. She could feel Emma was surprised, so the feel of skinny arms wrapping around her was touching. Her skin was warm and smelled like spring. Immediately, Regina felt the prickling hot shame of embarrassment crawl across her cheeks and jerked away, stepping back awkwardly.

Emma's grin was wide and full of sunlight; her missing teeth were filling in. "I missed you!" She exclaimed. "Do you like your room? When the sun hits right with the curtains the whole room turns blue. I told them to put you in here, 'cause that's your favourite colour. And I said to put the furs there even though it's summer and it's warm, just in case you might get cold." She bounced on the balls of her feet in the doorway, dressed practically in a linen shirt and new leathers, eagerly peering around.

"It's lovely," Regina told her, staring up at the high roof again. "Of course I like it."

"I knew you would." Emma bragged. She paused then, staring at the toe of her boot, scuffing across the floor. "So, are you busy?" She stared at Regina, eyebrows furrowed slightly. "Me and some people are gonna go down to the creek, cause the weather's so nice, and I just thought maybe you wanted to come with us?"

"Oh," Regina bit her lip, trying not to be as stupid as usual. "That sounds wonderful but –"

"I'll send a maid to tell your mother so you won't get in any trouble." Emma rushed to assure her, like she'd read her mind. "And we'll be back way before the dancing tonight. I promise."

Regina considered. She was _supposed_ to have tea with those ladies, but Mother made it sound like she'd be a hindrance there anyway, and if all the other children were going to be at the creek... She allowed the smile to crawl back onto her features. "Okay."

"Really?" Emma seemed to perk right up then, so she knew it was worth it. Her green eyes lit up with excitement as she snatched up Regina's hand, pulling her after her into the hallway. She called out to a passing serving girl. "Can you tell Lady Cora that Regina's come with us all to the creek? But we'll be back way before tonight. And can you tell her it was all my idea?" Regina smiled awkwardly as the girl nodded her assent and hurried off to find Mother. She followed Emma in the opposite direction, buzzing with nerves and anticipation. She'd never properly met Emma's other friends before. Most of them were too lowborn to attend the events that brought the two of them together. Regina wondered if they'd like her, and whose side Emma would take if they didn't. That made her tummy turn to knots again, so she tried not to think about it.

She needn't have worried. If she thought the journey to Callendor was magical, it was nothing compared with that first afternoon with Emma.

She'd followed Emma down through the humming town, weaving between the crowds of the bustling farmers market, gaining the other children as they went. The creek Emma spoke of wound like a silvery ribbon beyond the city gates, into the start of the woods and it glistened in the light. Emma's friends were lowborn; town children, the children of landlords and smiths, or lesser knights and stewards if they had any noble blood in them at all, but they were nothing like the crude smallfolk her mother would have described. They were kind enough, with pure meaning behind their rough speech. She could tell Emma was comfortable around them, which was good enough for her

The sunlight poured down from the flawless sky in shifting curtains and columns of spun-gold, and everything it touched turned bright and beautiful. Laden with the scents of pollen and plants and warm skin, the air was a haze of heat all around. Though her skirts were too long for her to wade into the water like the others, Regina sat on the moss-soft bank with her toes in the crystalline waters, swirling little patterns under the surface. Its gentle music rose from the waters to mingle with their laughter. She joined their conversation without any fear of seeming stupid or ugly or insolent. It felt strange and easy. Flowers speckled the bank in a spectrum of red and yellow and purple and white, a blizzard of colour. Emma splashed about with the others for a while, before pulling herself out of the water, bedraggled hair dripping wet, to sit beside her on the bank and leave cold handprints all over her arms while she pretended not to notice. She offered a smile that said everything and Regina returned it.

Emma sat with her for the rest of the day, laughing and absent-mindedly weaving petals into her dark hair for her. And when they'd all dried off, the lot of them laid back in a row on the ground, and watched the sky catch alight and the flames of sunset devour it, until the black of the burnt edges took over.  
They had to run through town to hop on the back of a passing straw cart for a lift back to the palace, and when Emma grabbed her arm and pulled her down amongst the scratchy yellow stuff she flopped back, smiling, and realized that it might have been the happiest time of her life. One by one, the town kids dropped off the cart to find their parents or their homes, until it was just Emma and Regina, lying side by side as the cart jolted over the cobblestones.

"Do you think it's always gonna be like this?" Emma asked suddenly, as they drew into the outer yard. She sounded a little uncertain, for maybe the first time ever.

"Like what?" Regina asked, absently turning a piece of straw between her fingers.

"Like you and me. Do you think it's always gonna be the two of us?" Emma turned sideways to stare at her, insistent green eyes never leaving hers. Regina hadn't ever thought that far ahead before. Not about Emma, at least. She opened her mouth, unsure of what to say. Emma figured it out first. "I do." She couldn't help but smile. Emma smiled back, sure and matter-of-fact once again. "I'm gonna marry you someday."

"Why?" Regina giggled. Above them, the tea-stained sky was starting to flush with stars, pinpricks of silvery light against the purple-blue dusk. The straw was itchy against her skin, and the rough wood of the cart rumbled every time they hit a rock, but she didn't care. The night chill was crawling in but she felt irrevocably warm.

"'Cause." Emma had shrugged, gaze still fixed on hers. Her smile seemed to make everything right.

Regina made her way back to her guest chambers still bright, but all smiles died when she opened the door to her room.  
"Mother," Regina froze. Her voice sounded very small to her own ears, younger than her nine years. Mother stood in the centre of the beautiful warm room that Emma had chosen for her, with ice in her hard blue eyes. She knew that look. When Mother looked angry, when she shouted at her, she knew it wasn't so bad. But when she looked like this, perfectly cold and composed with that thin, threatening smile fixed to her face – that was what chilled Regina most. She forced herself to move, to walk into her room and close the door behind her while she tried to think of something to say. "I was just going to get ready for the celebration, I..." She trailed off, unsure.

"Well, I don't see how you're going to do that." Her mother took a step towards her, still smiling, and Regina couldn't help but flinch, focusing on the floor. "When that servant told me what you were doing I thought I could at least be glad you'd return in time to prepare. Now I see that was a lie." Her voice had that strangely detached, casual tone to it, the one that always made Regina uneasy.

"I didn't mean to, Mother, we just lost track of time. I can still get ready on time if I'm quick," Regina reasoned cautiously. She knew Mother could just use her magic to help and she'd be ready early, this wasn't about that. She didn't know what it was about.

" _We_?" Her mother repeated. Regina dug her fingernails tighter into her palms. She shouldn't have said that, Mother was right, she was so stupid. "Look at me when I'm talking to you, Regina." Mother snapped. She did as she was told, staring up at her while she ran her scathing gaze over her body. She hated it when Mother looked at her like that, so scornfully. It made everything she liked about herself disappear. She was suddenly aware of the crumpled dress, the muddy shoes, the dishevelled hair. Mother came closer, snatched something from Regina's hair. Her heart sank when she saw the piece of straw, yellow petals from earlier still caught in it – as did something in Mothers' eyes. "Straw? What were you doing, dear, running through the stables? Playing with peasants? Tell me, darling, why is it you look so disgusting, minutes before a ball?" The smile was gone from her face now, leaving nothing but chilly disappointment. She pulled another of the flowers Emma had so carefully picked and plaited sharply away from her. Regina glared and tried not to cry. "Is this supposed to be pretty, hmm?"

"I didn't mean to," Regina insisted hopelessly.

"It was that Swan child, wasn't it?" She demanded suddenly, face darkening. "This was her idea."

"Emma's my friend! She just meant for it to be fun –"

"Life is not about having fun, dear, especially the kind of fun that makes you look a common peasant. That kind of fun only makes you badly behaved, and disappointing." Mother's eyes scanned her face, as if she was trying to see if she was lying, or trying to find something redeemable behind Regina's eyes. "I don't like this friendship you have with the princess. That child is little more than a wild animal, and you will not be associated with her schemes again, do you hear me?" Regina nodded, lump growing in her throat. "Do you hear me?"

"Yes, Mother." Regina managed, hand on her stomach. She'd never lied to her mother before. It was a strange feeling. She didn't care. If today had shown her anything it was that Emma was worth it.

"Good." Her mother said nothing after that, simply gave a wave of her hand. Regina flinched again, waiting for the pain to come. It didn't. Instead, when she opened her eyes, the cloud of choking purple magic clearing around her, she found that she was wearing the outfit Mother had picked out for the first celebration tonight, hair clean and freshly arranged. "You know I just want what's best for you, darling," Mother sighed. "Come along. And for heavens' sake, smile."

Regina came along, and smiled (with her mouth closed).

-0-

"I'm gonna win and you know it!"

"In your dreams, Swan!"

Emma smirked against Feather's neck, ignoring Regina's comment. She hadn't heard properly anyway; her words had been snatched up and tossed away by the bitter sting of the wind the moment they left her lips. Her freezing red knuckles tightened around the leather reigns, gripping hard as she pressed tighter with her thighs, spurring the horse on. Though the air was harsh and cold and abrasive her whole body was boiling, right down to her bones. The warmth of the mare beneath her urged her on. That, and the thunder of hooves, tearing grass, the frenzied beat of her heart, the wind stinging her cheeks.  
Everything was strong and steady and she was winning the race. When she'd found out Regina had been allowed a horse for her eleventh birthday last year, she'd been overcome with jealousy as well as happiness. It took exactly two weeks of whining before her parents finally gave in and upgraded her childhood pony for Feather – a dappled grey courser who was almost as competitive as her rider. Emma was _so_ going to win.

They'd marked the finish line as the huge fir tree that towered over the stables at the back of the Mills' estate. It sped closer and closer, she was passing Regina and her beloved Rocinante now – the grin crept back across her face. Her hair was coming loose of its ponytail, falling in her face, whipping around like crazy. The end was in sight. The Mills land, the lush Xalvadarr fields were blurring past her. She was going so fast, it was like she was flying. She was winning, she was winning – and then, to her left emerged a blur of brown and blue and _damn_ , that was Regina, drawing on her. She stared over for half a second, incredulous, and that was it. She narrowed her eyes after them, face screwed up in determination, urging Feather on harder and harder but it was no use. Regina had reached the tree, and was beginning to dismount by the time Emma caught up. The brief flash of laughter Regina gave as she dropped down from the saddle made it worth it.

"Okay," Emma panted, climbing down off of Feather's back and fighting to keep the grin off her face. "Okay, you've made your point."

Regina held Rocinante's reins in her hand, walking slowly over to her with a small, expectant smile. "Say it, then."

Emma gave in, grinning with an exasperated eye-roll. "Fine. Princess Regina Mills, out of the two of us you are the better rider." Regina beamed with pride. Tiny strands of dark hair had escaped her braid to fall around her breathless face, flushed with exertion. Emma swallowed hard, and then added sourly, "But I'm the only one of us who can swing a sword."

"Maybe a wooden one," Regina conceded. Emma shot her a look.

They walked to the stable across the grass side by side, reins in hand. This was the first time Emma had been allowed to ride Feather partway of any substantial journey, or at least bring her along. Her family were only stopping over here on their way to a meeting with Regina's grandfather, King Xavier, but it was that stop over that made Emma choose to come in the first place. Even a few days of Regina were better than nothing, after all. Emma stabled Feather in one of the empty stalls quickly, sauntering over to lean against one of the wooden pillars while Regina finished. She was leaning close to Rocinante's chestnut brown neck, touching his mane absently while she unbuckled the saddle.  
"You ready?" Emma asked.

Regina nodded, brushing back the loose strands of hair from her face and avoiding Emma's gaze. "Can we just... Wait, a while. I don't want to go back just yet."

Emma nodded her understanding, swinging around the post on her heels. Lady Cora was in a black mood at the minute, some trade alliance gone sour. She didn't blame Regina for hiding out until she cooled off. In fact, she was eager to help. The stable fell silent then. That seemed like an odd thing to say about a stable, with the horses whickering softly on whispering yellow hay, particularly with her breathing and Regina's breathing, but Emma swore for one second, all noise died. It was just her luck that she was thinking about everything in that second. "Regina?" Before her mind could catch up with her mouth, Emma had said what she'd been thinking every minute of every day recently. "Do you think I'm gonna make a good queen?"

Regina glanced up sharply at her, brown eyes confused. She nodded once, twice. "Of course."

Emma studied her. She hadn't broken their promise yet. "It's just..." She winced, wondering how to phrase it. The passage between her thoughts and her words still hadn't cleared. She hadn't realized before, but she was almost afraid to say the words and make it all more real. "Lately I've been thinking and... I didn't ask to have everybody looking to me, I was just born and that was it, instant heir, instant hero. My parents are really good leaders, right? The country's prospering. And I'm gonna have to follow that, but I can't – I can't understand the politics, manners. The closest I come is a halfway decent swing of a sword, and like you said, only ones made of wood."

Regina took a few steps closer to her then, and Emma sucked in a sharp breath. The words seemed to hang in the air around her head for a minute, accusatory. She stared as Regina's gaze softened. The brunette was a few inches smaller than her now. When had that happened? Regina smiled earnestly, and reached out to take one of Emma's hands between her own. _Like when we were tiny_. Her skin was very soft and warm. Her eyes met Emma's so seriously, she almost seemed like a grown up for a moment. "Emma. We're _twelve_. You can't know you'll be like by the time you come into power."

"But –"

"If you're really that worried, start with the easiest thing on the list." Regina told her calmly. She must have seen Emma's confusion, because she explained slowly, with the tiniest hint of a smile, "Make it a decent swing. And make it steel."

It was with that conversation playing over and over in the back of her mind that Emma finally summoned the courage to talk to her parents.

They were back home by that point. She'd been mulling Regina's words over constantly the whole trip and the journey back, but only sitting at the breakfast table with her parents, absently carving vicious pictures into bacon did she finally bring it up. She glanced over at Neal, deeply invested in violently bashing the top of his egg in with a spoon. Father was nodding and smiling to what Mother was saying but Emma doubted he was listening. Perfect opportunity.

"Hey, um, can I speak to you about something?" Emma tried, clearing her throat anxiously. "Seriously."

Both her parents looked up at the same time, exchanging a glance like the disgusting, lovesick idiots Emma knew they were. Father nodded, breaking out his easiest smile. "'Course you can, squirt."

 _Neal's the seven year old and I'm still squirt. Figures_. Emma watched her mother, trying to gauge her response. She put down her fork. "What is it?"

Emma stared at her half-demolished breakfast. It didn't help her out. She took a breath, looked up and said, all in one breath, "Iwannastarttrainingwiththeboyswhoaregonnabeknights."

Her mother frowned, glancing at Father and leaning forward, slightly. Emma could see the concern in her eyes and between her brows. "What was that, sweetie?"

 _Not getting any easier._ Emma swallowed the lump of doubts in her throat and tried again. "I wanna start training with the boys who are gonna be knights."  
She sat back in her chair, letting her hair fall in her eyes and waiting for the damage. She shot a glance over at her brother, still obliviously attacking his breakfast with silverware and was struck by a pang of envy. _Oh, to be seven and not have to worry_. Not that she was worry-free at seven, at all. She didn't understand why, but she still worried about Regina, and Lady Cora, even then. She stared anxiously between her parents, wondering who was going to speak first. Whichever spoke first kind of set the tone and the other would follow by example. Emma had experience with this. She hoped it was Father who braved speech. "And why is this?" So of course, it was Mother.

Emma folded her arms, blowing her hair from her eyes. "Because. _Because_ ," Emma wondered what the hell she thought she was going to say to explain herself. How could she explain that without explaining everything? She took a deep breath in. "All I've ever wanted is to be a good leader. To rule this land as well as you both have." She looked up expectantly; Father was giving Mother a look. Emma plunged on. "But I want to lead in every respect; I want to know how to defend my family and my people when the time comes. How can I expect these people to fight and die for me if I'm not willing – or even able – to do the same for them?"

Father kept looking at Mother. Emma followed those exchanges intently. "I think that what you just said," He stated slowly, as if still considering it, "Proves that you're ready."

"Is this what you really want?" Her mother pressed, wide eyes searching and finding Emma's gaze.

"Yeah," Emma nodded. "It is."

Three days later, she found herself striding into the cold practise yard with her hair pulled back into a ponytail, surrounded by the other new recruits.  
The sun, newly risen, cast chilly pale highlights and long shadows shifting over the worn-down flagstones, flooding the yard with harsh white light. Though she knew several of the boys from the town, and the knights and nobles' sons, and had bested near all of them with wooden swords when she was younger, Emma still couldn't fight that small squirm in the pit of her stomach. The master at arms, Sir Beric, awaited them in the centre of the square, beneath the crisp blue sky. It didn't help that she'd known him since she was born; it only made the change more severe, now he had assumed the face and stance and version of himself that was the working man. The toughened teacher.

All around her, the boys were lining up. She could see them staring as she passed, whispering as she took her place. Well, it didn't matter. She'd show them all soon enough. Some of them were only her height or smaller, and several were just as skinny. She didn't care about them. Her eyes lingered on the older boys, teenage giants beginning to fill out. It didn't matter. She could be just as good as them and she would. She was glad she hadn't worn ringmail, or anything to fancy. Everyone else was dressed in the same kind of leathers and roughspun as her. That was good, Emma decided. Here, it would not do for her to be Princess Emma Swan, their future queen. Here, she had to be one of them. Once they were all of them lined up, Sir Beric strode down the length of them, asking questions here and there, testing muscles.  
She was the only girl.

"Milady," Sir Beric called, when he reached her, squinting in the sunlight. He didn't even drop his head in a bow. She was glad. "I warn you now, you will receive no special treatment here, princess or not. In my yard, you're just another soldier. As yet unfit for battle."

"Good." Emma managed, making sure to look him levelly in the eye. The boy next to her was gaping like she was some freakish animal in a menagerie. She didn't look at him.

When he had done his rounds, quietly familiarizing himself with his new recruits, the knight made his way to the front, and gave them their first lesson. It was something Emma would never forget, through the rest of the trials and turmoil that her life would throw at her. "I'll tell you this now, and I'll tell you that the ones who listen will be the ones who become worthy warriors." Sir Beric announced, voice raised loud though nobody else uttered a sound. "As long as you focus on the things I say and never forget what you're fighting for, you cannot lose."

 _Never forget what you're fighting for_. Emma's heart hammered out a mad tattoo against her ribs while her mind raced with images. Her parents and Neal, playing and laughing. The farmers' fields unfurling across the land that was hers to protect. A tiny, pretty girl with dark curls hanging across the shoulders of her blue dress, who Emma shouldn't have kissed. A promise made atop a broken tower. Tiny strands of dark hair had escaping a braid to fall around a breathless face, flushed with exertion. A small, nervous smile crawled across Emma's face.

 _Never forget what you're fighting for._


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N ~** Did somebody say awkward gay teenage princesses. Oh yes that was me. Again, please put up with the plotless groundwork, it is necessary and the plot will be worth it, trust me. I'll just reinstate that if anyone seems OOC it's because I've tried to capture canon young Regina and Emma from the show but with the slight alterations of how they'd be in my AU circumstances. (But basically, it's just my excuse to watch all the young Regina episodes again bc precious cinnamon roll)

Also, to answer that guest's question, while same sex marriage does happen and is common knowledge in this AU, it's not so common with royalty because their need heirs. Also, Cora is not a fan of Snow or Charming or Emma in general and has issues I'll get to later.

 **3.**

"Higher! Higher, Booth, put something behind it!"

"Yeah, Booth," Emma repeated, lunging to parry his blow, breathless grin fixed on her face. "Put something – behind it!" She grunted with the exertion as she shot to meet his next blow. Her opponent, apparently, had listened to their swordmaster. She still had the upper hand, of course. Pinocchio – August, sorry – was a decent fighter; he had the muscle to back himself up, the right determination and stamina, and enough brains to work out his next move in a second. Yeah, he was a decent fighter. But he was a better writer.

He overbalanced his next thrust, leaving his side exposed. Emma took a hit to the shoulder darting in to take advantage, and maybe if this was a real fight and he had a real blade instead of the blunted tourney swords they used for training she would have regretted it. But she landed a solid hit to his ribs, and once she'd thrown her elbow in his face, he was down.

Emma grinned, leaning back with an easy grin, blowing escaped sweat-soaked strands of hair from her face. It took a while to catch her breath, the air coming more steadily to her lungs as the familiar dull ache of bruising crawled across her shoulder. She rubbed it absently, other hand still loosely gripping her sword. She threw it down to clatter against the ground, leaning in and offering August her hand. He gripped it and let her pull him to his feet, matching her grin. She liked August, and not just because he was fairly easy for her to take down. He was sure of things – everybody knew his story. He was a magical creation of wood and paint, but he'd wanted to be a real boy, and so he became one. He didn't like his name and what it represented to him, so he made another. He loved his study, and dreamed of compiling books of his own, but claimed he first needed experience. He winced, rubbing at the spot where she had hit him. _That's some dedication to the art._

Sir Beric strode over to clap her on the shoulder. "Nice footwork, milady." Emma smiled. He tossed a critical glance over his gathered students. "You all did well today. Next time, puppet boy, focus more on defence. You understand what I mean?"

"Yes sir." August nodded earnestly. Emma glanced between her friend and the knight. For all he belittled them, or called them names, the man was a damn good teacher, and he could always be counted on to bring out the best of people.

Beric nodded, before pacing away to shout, "You can all take a break!"

 _Damn right._ Around the yard, the ringing of steel on steal faded away as the boys all stepped back, caught their breath. Several of their friends had drifted over, lost in conversation. Emma rolled her shoulder beneath her hand, wincing. "You done me in, you wooden bastard."

"I was just returning a favour, princess." August rolled his eyes. "And you never even met me in the wooden days." He slumped down on one of the crates they'd assembled weeks ago for their breaks. "At least you have time to mend up on your journey. Bet your dancing will leave something to be desired."

"Oh no." Emma deadpanned. "Whatever shall I do?" Some of their friends nearby snickered. She glanced about the training yard, squinting in the sunlight. Laughing, joking, sunlight reflecting in blinding flashes off discarded blades. Just another days' work. She could hardly believe it had been nearly two years since she'd asked her parents if she could learn to fight. It had been two years of blood, sweat and tears, sure, but they'd been the best two years of her life. When she had a sword in her hand, she felt... Right. Like she felt around Regina. Like she could accomplish everything she needed too. Like she was good at something. Four years 'til she came of age and she still had no idea about running a kingdom, but running a battle? That was something she could do. And it made the former seem a little less threatening.

"Forget about you, I feel sorry for whoever's feet you're stepping all over." August teased. He paused, like he was deep in thought. He levelled his sword, fingers drumming introspectively against the metal. "Hmm. What was her name, again? Rebecca? Rihella? It's not like you've mentioned it at all."

"Shut up," Emma made to grab the sword from him, but he yanked it back. "I'm actually good at dancing." August raised his eyebrows at her. "I am! Whatever, Regina likes my dancing."

"Regina! That's right!" August cheered. "You'll have to forgive me, that's only, what? The fiftieth time you've said her name today?"

Emma pulled a face at him. She was too excited (and worried) to let anyone annoy her. Tomorrow, she and her parents would set off for Xalvadarr, and the first 'grown up ball' she'd been deemed old enough to attend. King Xavier was hosting an extravagant dance for his nameday, so of course all of his grandchildren would be attending. It had been too long since she'd last seen Regina, five whole months ago, when she'd accompanied her mother to some trade meeting with her parents. She'd made a whole load of friends through her training, but it could never be the same. Regina was different. She was special. Emma shook the thought off, and squashed down the mass of nerves writhing like snakes in the pit of her stomach. Her mother had built this ball up for weeks, going on and on about how important a young lady's first entrance to a real event was, and how wonderful everything was going to be. (Emma had her doubts.)

"Who's Regina?" Wyl, a steward's boy who was fast as he was stupid, frowned from the crate beside August.

"Some foreign princess." Heward, his equally stupid friend, replied flippantly, drinking deeply from his waterskin. "From Xalvadarr. Emma's friend."

Wyl looked blank. _As always,_ Emma thought brutally _._ Those two were fine for a laugh between spars, but she doubted they'd ever be knights, let alone anything important. She didn't care for them as she cared for August, or Thomas or Frederick. Wyl snatched the skin from him. "The pretty one?"

Emma stared up sharply.

"Yeah," Heward nodded, and then shot a glance towards Emma, as if he was looking for her clarification.

Emma stiffened. She wasn't entirely sure why, but she could feel a burning heat prickling across the back of her neck, beneath tightening skin. Her blood felt like it was both boiling over and hardening inside her rigid veins at once. She swallowed hard, opening her mouth and waiting for the words to come. She could feel the furrow between her brows. "She's alright." She managed hastily. Her voice sounded strange and unfamiliarly high in her burning ears.

Of course, once they were reunited Emma had other thoughts.

That small fragment of conversation had stuck in mind, and it cut her up the whole carriage ride there. She'd spent the abrasive hours of the journey slumped against the bench, head leant against the glass so she could stare at the land rushing past without every actually seeing anything, pondering. The bruise flowering across her shoulder was throbbing. She didn't even know why she was so hung up on that one talk. It was nothing. And Wyl was just stupid. Emma clenched and unclenched her fists while the carriage rumbled on. She just wanted some peace and quiet. Apparently her family had other ideas.

"What's the king like, Emma?" Neal kept asking, poking her in the side when she didn't reply. Though he wasn't actually old enough to attend the ball, Mother and Father had insisted on dragging him along with them, to broaden his cultural horizons or something. Besides, Regina had a whole hoard of tiny, manic cousins to keep him occupied. This would be his first time in King Xavier's castle. "Isn't he really old? Emma, who's gonna be king when he dies? Will it be Regina's dad, Emma?"

Emma glared at the glass pane of the window. Neal poked her again, and she slapped him off, huffing. "Stop it, Neal. You're annoying." She muttered sullenly, and then felt immediately guilty about it. He stared at her, eyes wide and shining and accusingly adorable. Emma sighed and relented. "One of Regina's uncles is gonna be king; her dad's the youngest son."

"Like how you get to be queen cause you're older than me?" Neal pressed.

She glanced down at him, slumped beside her so low he was almost falling off the seat. He had one of his little painted toy dragons clutched between his fingers, and he kept turning it over and over. A brief pang of sympathy flooded her. Emma remembered how boring she found the long journeys between kingdoms when she was his age. (Except when _she_ was nine, she was always hyperactive with excitement, particularly if she'd be seeing Regina, and the boredom was actually useful to subdue her.) "Yeah, like that." Emma told him, trying her best to muster a smile for him.

"I like Regina." Neal declared, scrambling to sit more upright. "She helped me name my pony."

"Yeah," Emma managed, shifting uncomfortably in her seat and focusing intently on the air bubbles gathered in the corner of the window. She ran her finger down the pane. Why did everyone want to talk about Regina all of sudden? Yeah, she was great and kind and brave and smart but that was what _Emma_ thought. Not all _them_. She shook her hair from her face and sighed, leaning back against the wall of the carriage. Her uncharacteristic quiet didn't go unnoticed.

"Emma, are you okay?" Her mother asked, with that worried look on her faced that made Emma feel uncomfortable and upset and like she was two years old again.

"I'm fine." Emma said. She really didn't know why people kept asking her that. She was perfectly okay. Just because she was about to make her great entrance into the world or nobility and effectively give everybody she'd once be meeting and trading and working with their first lasting impression of her as a young woman.

Father leaned forward in his seat opposite her. "You sure? You look a little pale."

"I always look pale." Emma muttered defensively. Her shoulder still ached. She couldn't help August's words from returning to her. It was more important for the heir to a large, wealthy kingdom to be able to think than to dance but at the same time, if she tripped over or embarrassed herself that would be what people would always remember about her. She needed these people to respect her someday.

"Okay," Father conceded. He still looked concerned.

"Are you nervous about the ball?" Mother asked, brows kit sympathetically. "I know I might have put... some pressure on you maybe, but you know I don't really care about any of that. You'll do wonderfully as long as you relax and enjoy yourself, I know it. Right, Emma?"

"Right," Emma had nodded, mulling the words over. It didn't matter what she felt inside, she supposed. Nobody saw that unless she let them. This was her first real ball as a young member of society, as the future queen of Callendor. She had to go out there with her head held up and prove that she could do this. Maybe.

She kept that mantra running through her mind whenever the twisting in her stomach threatened to rise up in her throat and choke her.

As the festivities would run on into the early morning, the guests who had travelled from other kingdoms had been granted guest bedchambers for the night. _Regina is somewhere in this castle_ , Emma thought with a small smile _._ She finally gave in to her excitement at seeing her friend after so long, as she followed the serving boy through the castle to hers. She'd missed Regina a lot. She missed the sound of her laugh, which was always worth the trouble of trying to coax it out of hiding. She missed the way her eyes lit up when she smiled, and every single shade of brown in her eyes. Missed the feeling of strength she gave her. Of unaloneness. Just the thought made her smile.

Emma waited until the servant had shown her to her room to ask. "Excuse me?" She called. He stopped in the doorway of her chambers. "Do you know where the Princess Regina might be? I'm a friend of hers."

The boy nodded awkwardly. "The princess is in dress fittings with her lady mother, m'lady. I'm escorting people to their chambers all day, but I have a friend running errands for milady. They're in the East wing."

"Would you show me to her?" Emma asked, unfastening her thick travelling cloak and throwing it across the bed. The journey had not been too long or strenuous – her shirt and leather doublet were still fine, although she did pull her hair from its tie to shake out down her back. After all, there was no point bathing and changing now when she would be for the ball in a few hours anyway.

"Of course, m'lady." The boy hovered in the doorway, waiting while Emma tossed her hair tie to slump on the bed with her cloak.

In an instant, she'd hurried through the door after him, too caught up in her eagerness to think clearly. "So, this ball's pretty exciting, huh?" She heard herself say. The boy nodded awkwardly, probably not used to being addressed so idly by anyone above his station. It was common in the White Palace for servants to be treated as kindly as friends. Emma knew how unusual it was, but it was how she'd been raised. She followed the boy through the high stone corridors, slatted with pure grey light from the long windows. "It's my first proper ball. And Regina's, too."

Vaguely, she knew she should probably stop talking. There was a while left until the ball tonight, until Mother would stop by her room with the dress she'd picked out for her and help her get ready. Emma protested that any maid could do it instead, but the queen insisted. Emma followed the boy past rows of iron-bound doors. She'd been to King Xavier's castle a few times before, but she still wasn't exactly an expert. She wondered which of the great oak doors the right one was. She didn't have to wonder long.

Lady Cora's voice carried through the walls, cracking like a whip. Emma felt her stomach tighten at the familiar sound and tried not to wince. She couldn't make out all of what she was saying, just snatches of sounds, fragments of brittle sentences, harsh ugly noises; _you be quiet_ ; _such insolence_ ; _not my fault_ ; _well find one_ ; _needs to go more_ in; _quickly_. Emma glanced towards the boy, who was visibly flinching at the sound of her voice.

"You don't have to stay," Emma told him. "I'll wait 'til she's gone."

"As you wish, m'lady." He looked relieved. She didn't blame him.

"Thank you," Emma called, watching him go. Feeling increasingly silly, she skulked around the corner of the hallway for a few minutes. Lady Cora's distaste for her was no secret. Emma wasn't sure what she'd done, but for as long as she could remember Regina's mother had been hardening her eyes and pursing her lips at her every movement. Cora was clearly in a bad mood already. Emma didn't want to stoke the flames and make it worse on Regina. She didn't have to wait long: she watched as Cora stalked from the room in a flurry of curses and swirling skirts, hurrying in the opposite direction. Once her footsteps had faded, Emma left her hiding place to rap three times on the door.

"It's open," Emma's heart relaxed at the achingly familiar sound of her voice, strained thin.

Emma's fingers closed around the cold silver doorknob, pushing it open. Inside, the maids rushing about looked close to tears and the elderly man Emma assumed to be some kind of tailor or dressmaker clutching his measuring tape in the corner seemed on edge. A trunk full of brightly-coloured fabrics overflowed on the floor by Emma's boot. It seemed that Cora, as usual, had left a trail of destruction in her wake. She could feel the furrow between her brows, the sink of her heart at this unhappy welcome. And then her gaze flickered up.

Regina was standing in the centre of the room, hand clutching her stomach, looking exasperated and hopeless and angry, wide brown eyes shining. Emma froze. It had to be her dress for tonight that they were adjusting but she couldn't for the life of her tell why it needed it. It was kind of a pastel lilac colour, which should have drawn attention to how young she still was, but the cut, baring her shoulders and clinging to her waist did the exact opposite. Somebody had made her face up with the paints and powders Emma could never manage, highlighting those soft features, calling attention to the curve of her cheekbones, the shape of her lips. Emma had never paid much attention to her lips before. Right now she couldn't remember why not.

" _Emma_ ," Regina's eyes lit right up when she saw her, sighing in relief. "I'm so glad you're here. It's been awful."

Emma tried to swallow: her mouth was dry. Vaguely, she knew she should be searching for words, but all her mind could do was wonder whether her eyelashes had always been that long. And when... Emma faltered. Regina certainly hadn't looked like this the last time she'd seen her. Five months and she'd become a girl. A real, actual, proper girl. Beneath the neckline of her dress, a shy swell of breast strained against the fabric. That definitely hadn't been there last time.

"Are you okay?" Regina asked, staring concernedly with her eyebrows drawn together. "You look strange."

 _I'm not the only one_. Emma nodded, trying to force herself back to normal. She didn't know what was up with her. "I'm fine. I just missed you, that's all."

Regina glanced around worriedly for a moment, like she was making sure nobody was looking, or that her mother hadn't quietly reappeared in the corner. Satisfied the coast was clear, she stepped forward to pull Emma into a quick hug. The scent of apples and soap lingered even after she drew away. "I've missed you too." Regina nodded, fingers twisting absently in the fabric of the dress, pulled tight across her stomach. She sighed tearfully, stepping back and holding her arms out, hands tightly balled into fists. "How do I look?"

"'Gina..." Emma's mind was empty.

"Everything's wrong." Regina stated, anxiously pushing a dark wave of hair behind her ear. "The cut, the fit, Mother's going crazy trying to make it right on time, and I don't know what to do. I hate everything." Emma opened her mouth to say something but Regina cut her off, shaking her head and raising her gaze to meet Emma's. "But it doesn't matter. You're here now."

"Yeah," Emma desperately wanted to say something more substantial. She had a sudden, bizarre urge to wrap her arms around Regina and run away with her, to somewhere safe and far away. But she could hardly say that, so she didn't say anything.

Regina tried a small smile for Emma's benefit. "How are you?"

"I'm fine." Emma smiled encouragingly. "I've been spending more time training lately. They moved me up to real swords. They're tourney swords, which means they're blunted, but it's still pretty cool."

"That's wonderful." Regina's smile seemed less forced now, her eyes shining. "Don't forget me when you're a famous warrior princess off on adventures."

"That would be impossible." Emma assured her. She knew that she should probably go, before Cora came back and made everything worse. She was just so reluctant to leave her here, so obviously uncomfortable. She smiled softly. "Save me a dance?"

"Of course."

-0-

Regina hung about nervously beside the buffet table.

The ballroom was thick with dense heat; the air was heavy, stifling. Garlands of flowers had been strung up across the high ceiling and around the walls and the smell of them was too strong, heady and invasive. It felt like it was choking her. Since she was nearly fifteen and a young woman now, Regina had been allowed more wine than usual, not that she had wanted it. But it was expected, and she had no choice but to fog her mind and make her body seem thicker, more ungainly. Crowds of dancing couples whirled past, a blur of colours that were too strong, dizzying. There were so many people; she'd counted nobles from every kingdom in the Enchanted Forest (apart from Ironhaven, she realized strangely). The whole night was smothering her.

When she was a little girl, she always thought events like this would be magical, wonderful – now she just wished she were anywhere else. It was all ridiculous. Offensive, actually. She just focused on breathing. _In and out. In an out. In and out._ It was harder than it ought to be. The first time she'd tried her dress on earlier, she'd liked it for the fleeting second before her mother started laying into it. Now she loathed it. Mother had it adjusted after Emma left and ruined it. They'd taken the waist in: she was laced so tightly into her corset that she could barely breathe. Mother had the neckline altered. It made her feel terribly self-conscious, painfully aware of herself, like she was on display. What made it worse was that she was beginning to understand that she _was_ on display. Mother had made sure of that. But they were all on display. Because that was how society worked. _Disgusting._

"Regina, do stop sulking." She glanced up suddenly, startled. Mother had fallen on her, cold determination in her eyes, small smile curling at her lips. Regina immediately stiffened as she snatched up her arm, fingers digging tightly into her skin. "You're of no use to anyone hiding in a corner all night. I have somebody I'd like you to meet."

Her mother dragged her across the room. She'd made it very clear earlier that Regina was to be on her best behaviour tonight, polite and charming and beautiful and definitely not to spend the evening laughing childishly with _that_ _Callendor_ _princess_. Regina knew better than to disobey her tonight. Mother released her from her grip when they came to a stop before a tall man in a blue ceremonial jacket, rich with embroidery. She stared hopelessly over at Mother for help. None came. Mother was wearing her most determined look. Her eyes were almost manic, fixed firmly onto the man's. "My lord, allow me to present my daughter, Princess Regina."

Regina stared unhappily as the man reached out to take her hand in his own and bring it to his lips. "It is an honour, my lady." He didn't mean it. There was nothing behind the words. His mouth was chapped and dry and it felt all wrong. Mother stared approvingly. He was younger than Daddy, maybe thirty or a few years less, and the way he dragged his stare over her made her skin feel all hot and crawly. "Cedric, Prince of Seafort."

She tried not to scowl as she forced the words out. "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, my lord."

The self assured smile on his face told her he'd heard that way too much. He didn't even consider it might be sarcasm. Regina already loathed him. He cocked his head self-assuredly. "Might I have this dance?"

 _No._ "Of course, my lord." Regina summoned the strength to smile graciously and allow him to take her hand and lead her onto the floor. It was only when the song was nearly finished, and she was way too close to this tall, hard man, and she was close to tearing her skin off with her own fingernails, that she saw Emma.

Or rather, caught Emma's eye.

Because the other princess was standing amidst a cluster of nobles, looking thoroughly bored with their conversation, and staring at her. For a moment Regina couldn't do anything but stare. It was so bizarre, so alien to see Emma so formally dressed now. Even before her training demanded more practical clothes, she'd put a stop to Snow's obsession with dressing her up, preferring comfortable leathers and linens. The gown brought out the green in her eyes, and with her hair falling in curls around her shoulders she looked every bit the storybook princess. But Regina had always thought she was at her most beautiful when she looked happy.

She was scowling, there was a harsh glint in the green of her eyes, but it was worse than anger. Regina could deal with Emma's anger; she was an expert on calming her down. But Emma looked hurt, too. And she had a feeling that she was the reason.

-0-

 _Stupid, stupid._

Emma waited until the music of the ballroom had faded, muffled by the stone of the hallway, before she allowed herself to feel. In the dimly-lit corridor, she felt her body collapse into a sigh right down to her bones. She'd fled so quickly, the great double doors at the end of the hallway were still falling closed. Here, only the still flickering torches lining the walls gave any fight to the darkness, and the sound from back there sounded thin, as if underwater.

It was all just too much. The night, the dress, the men, the dancing – it was all too much and she was _so_ not enough for it. She hated the dress on her, fussy brocaded silk that her mother had loved, uncomfortably tight. It felt all wrong and the wrongness crept into her skin, too. She hated standing around with the dullest people she had ever met, discussing things she didn't care about, trying to be something – someone – that she just couldn't be. She hated that man leering down Regina's dress while he whirled her around to the music.

Her throat tightened at the thought. _Stupid_. What did she think was going to happen? She and Regina would spend the whole night laughing against the back wall like they always used to? Her parents were right, they were young women now and that meant... _this_. It wasn't like she'd only just realized Regina was attractive, or that she probably wasn't the only person who thought so. But it was the first time it mattered. Because, she supposed suddenly, there would only be more balls, and more dancing, and more men until _fucking_ Cora found one she liked, and then Regina would be married with a castle and babies and having balls of her own _and then who the hell am I?_

 _Just the queen that's terrified of responsibility. Right._

She didn't even know why she was so upset and that was the worst part. There was no logical reason for the anger to be roiling through her, choking her. There was no point replaying the image in her head. She balled her fists tight enough that it hurt, glaring at the flagstone-ed floor with hair falling in her face.

"Emma!"

Emma whirled around. Regina stood before her, hurt and determined. The light of the torches sent soft black shadows waltzing up and down the bare skin of her arms, and bathed her in its otherworldly glow. Her hair was unravelling around her face where it had been pinned back at the sides, the vein in her forehead stood out, the flames reflected in her shining eyes and that stupid dress. Her stance was accusatory. Emma took her in and said nothing.

" _Emma_." Regina repeated.

"What?" Emma snapped. She felt suddenly very self-conscious, standing there alone in her silly ball gown. She folded her arms sullenly in front of her.

Regina's eyes widened, a furrow appearing between her brows. Her painted lips were slightly parted, but she said nothing for a while. "Why are you being like this?"

"Like what? I'm not being like anything." Emma told her venomously. _I'm_ not _anything. And you're everything._ "You're the one being weird."

"I'm not..." Regina glared at her, suddenly looking as angry as Emma felt. "How am _I_ being weird?"

"You know," Emma accused. Her voice sounded high and harsh and unfamiliar in her ears. She didn't know where any of this was coming from, or why she wasn't stopping when she knew she should. She knew she was being unfair. She could feel herself colouring from the heat crawling over her cheeks and the back of her neck. "Acting all stupid and simpery for that _gross_ old lord. It's disgusting." Emma paused, and then added without thinking, "And that dress is ridiculous!"

"Emma!" Regina repeated. She stepped closer – just by a few paces, but that was all they needed. Emma could see the rise and fall of her chest, hear her breathing, bouncing off the walls. The rhythm of it was familiar to her. "I didn't ask for any of that, you know I was only trying to please my mother! I just –" She sighed exasperatedly. "I _just_ wanted to get through tonight without too much trouble."

Emma studied her, dark-haired and breathless in front of her. "I know." She muttered, softer now. "I know." She knew that, of course she knew that. It didn't stop the ocean rolling through her chest though, and it didn't make watching it any easier. She sighed. Emma didn't mean to say anything else after that, but the words just came out. What she said surprised even her. "I didn't like you dancing with that man."

Regina blinked. She raised her gaze very carefully to Emma's. "He wouldn't have been my first choice."

"Who would have been?" Emma braved the question, feeling her heart speed up against her chest.

She held her breath as Regina walked closer, both shy and emboldened at the same time, watching the flames cast make the shadows of her eyelashes dance against her cheekbones. Slowly, _slowly_ , a smile crept across her lips, lit up behind her eyes. She leaned in close enough for Emma to smell the perfume on her. " _You_ , stupid."

And with those two words, everything was okay again. Emma felt her smile right in her heart. "Since when do you call people stupid?" She grinned, suddenly feeling very light. "I'm starting to think I'm a bad influence on you."

"You know you are," Regina smiled, and then raised an eyebrow. "Now. Are you going to get over yourself and dance with me or shall I find somebody else?"


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N ~** The final chapter of (entirely) plotless groundwork! As I've said before, this is all building towards the plot (which actually gets rolling a little next chapter...) I'm going to give everybody an abuse trigger warning right now because Cora. I apologize for the length of this one but the next few are all ridiculously long and full of plot, so hold on and I promise they'll make it up to you.

 **4.**

"It's beautiful here."

Emma let her words hang in the air for a moment. She was sitting back against the shelf of rock, arms resting loosely around her knees, fiddling with a blade of grass. The White Palace was a fantastic place to grow up, to explore and climb, and the town was always buzzing, vibrant, practically magical. But beyond the gates, where the creek and the forest ran out into the open world, she'd never been allowed to stray too far. It had all been very contained, and urban.

Here was a different story. The Mills estate was nestled right in the centre of the Xalvadarr countryside, a verdant world of trees and colour.  
Out here, in the open, with just Regina, was one of the only times Emma could breathe easily. The sunlight streamed down in flowing veils of pale gold, setting everything it touched aglow. The grass seemed more alive, murmuring beneath the gentle caress of the breeze. Regina didn't reply, but she didn't need to. She sat beside Emma, beautiful and pensive, dark hair unbound and hanging around downturned face, stirring in the air while she twirled a daisy between her fingers. They'd managed to escape that morning with a picnic pilfered from the kitchens, while their parents' council dragged on and on. They'd ridden for ages, until the land opened out wide and untampered all around them.

Emma leaned her head against the rock behind her, watching the sun crawl across the pale cloudless sky, and watching Regina slowly become herself under the sunlight. Sixteen, and the two years between her and the kingdom were slipping like water through her fingers. All that went away out here. Emma knew she couldn't keep running from her problems. But somehow with Regina it never mattered. Because part of her knew that Regina was running too. And not existing with somebody was much less lonely than not existing alone.

A laugh broke the air, soft and incredulous. Emma stared, cold insides thawing. Regina laughed so rarely lately, she treasured it every time. A butterfly circled Regina's outstretched hand, small and yellow, speckled scarlet. It landed on the back of her hand to dance a few steps across her skin, before flying away toward the horizon. Regina watched it go, smile lingering, and Emma watched her. She sat back against the rock beside Emma once it had gone, reaching to pick another daisy. When she reached across to thread it through Emma's hair behind her ear, arm brushing her shoulder, she looked just like she had ten years ago.

Emma smiled absently. "What's that for?"

"A crown," Regina told her simply, settling back against the rock with her hair full of sunlight. "A new kind of crown for a new kind of queen."

"Sometimes I think I'd prefer this kind," Emma told her, focusing on the perfect line of the sunlit horizon.

Regina rose suddenly, spine straightening, propping herself up to stare across at her. Her hair fell softly around her face written with concern. She looked intently at her. "You're not alright with all of this," It wasn't a question.

Emma bit back a bitter smile. She didn't want to be too insufferable and ruin their perfect bubble of a day. But she didn't want to ruin it with dishonesty, either. It had been nearly ten years, but their vow still stood. That was a strange thought. Had it truly been that long since the tiny girl with the fierce dark eyes swore her sincerity atop a broken tower? Time was a funny thing. "No." She dropped the blade of grass from her fingers. And then she took a breath and said everything she never let herself feel. "When I was a kid, just before I met you, actually, my mother sat me in her lap and held me while Father told me all about how they'd come to the throne. And they told me how important it was that they were always honest, and just, and noble and kind because they had to be all of those things not just for themselves, but for all the people they protected. They told me about how it was going to me my job, someday; to be all those things and do what was best for all those people.

"And all I thought was how cool it was, that I got to rule the world. But I grew up and I thought about those things more, and I realized that I wasn't all those things. I wasn't fearless and intelligent and pure and I didn't know how to make decisions for anyone other than myself. I didn't understand the politics of it all, or the numbers. And we'd ride out every summer for the harvest, visiting farms and villages, and every summer it dawned on me that those people, and their crops and children and their whole lives were going to be put into my hands to do what was best for. I had to end wars and make truces and feed the hungry, heal the sick, make sure the dead were honoured. I had to look after the world." Emma paused, trying to swallow the lump in her throat. She focused on the horizon, blinking in the sunlight. She didn't expect her next words to sound so broken. She didn't know they could. "But I couldn't even look after you."

Regina leaned into her then, rested her head on Emma's shoulder. Her hair smelled like apples and sunlight and home. It was the best thing she could have done. Emma exhaled slowly, sliding her arm around Regina to hold her there. She was warm and soft and familiar and all those things made Emma's heart relax. Everything felt safe out here. Emma felt safe out here. It took a while for her to say anything. "You do help me, you know." Regina told her quietly, looking out at the land. "Every day."

 _It's not enough, though_ , Emma reflected, as Regina's hand closed protectively around hers. It wasn't enough, because she knew for a fact those red lines curling around her arms were the souvenirs of her mothers' magic. It wasn't enough because in the back of her mind, all the time, she was wondering how many years they had left before Regina would be married somewhere far away, before she was queen and never resting.  
Maybe they didn't have long, and maybe they had all the time in the world, but right now, together, in an open field, there was nothing but the two of them and the butterflies.

They stayed like that for a long time.

-0-

The next day Regina had her maid wake her early so that she could see Emma off as she departed. It had never been easier to bathe and dress and break her fast quickly, and it never been harder. The whole time she readied herself she kept thinking of their beautiful day yesterday. The sun and the butterfly and the flowers. And how, right beside Emma, she had never felt safer. Briefly, she wondered if she had ever felt safe anywhere else.  
When the messenger came to tell her that the royal party was departing, Regina flew down the staircase and out into the world. Across the yard, she could see Emma, saddling her horse amidst the chaos, sunlight hitting her blonde hair like a halo. Mother and Daddy were occupied, wishing the king and queen goodbye. This was her moment. She was suddenly struck motionless by a pang of loss or reluctance, or something she couldn't name, frozen on the stones. Why did it seem to get harder to say goodbye every time?

Only when Emma looked up, and caught her eye with a breathless grin and the risen sun reflected in her conflicted eyes did Regina find movement and sound again. She forced herself to walk slowly, certainly over to her. "Good morning."

"Is it?" Emma asked, squinting in the sunlight. "'Cause it doesn't feel great."

Regina was touched that this could be as hard for her. When did it become so difficult? She didn't remember a time. All around them, the clangour of a departing group rang out, people shouting, running about and dogs barking and horses whickering softly under the crisp white sun. Emma was just ever so slightly taller than her now. She didn't know what to say. Feather, the princess' horse, was twisting her head impatiently. Regina finally allowed her narrowed gaze to rise up to meet Emma's. "I don't want you to leave."

"I don't want you to stay," Emma confessed. A gloved finger absently touched Regina's hair. And then they stood there, looking at each other, saying nothing. But it was the kind of nothing that meant everything. Eventually, Emma mounted Feather, and Regina stood there with her arms wrapped tightly around herself, watching her ride away, between her parents and her brother. As she rode through the gates, she twisted in her saddle to turn and look back at her. She looked away again when she saw Regina had seen.

The daisy had fallen from her hair a long time ago.

Later, at lunch with her parents, Regina realized that she'd never asked when they would see one another again. She didn't mention it now. Instead, she sat with her best posture and avoided Mother's eye while she ranted. She was going on about the unrest in Ironhaven, and how it was all Callendor's fault. Regina cut her food into tiny pieces and tried to ignore her without looking too sullen. "And as for that so called princess, well," She made a noise to express what she thought of her.

Regina slammed her fork down on the table. "Don't, Mother." She finally let herself look over at her. "Please."

"Regina, darling," Mother sighed. "I know how very taken you are with the royal whelp but she's terribly controversial –"

"Is that such a bad thing?" Regina folded her hands in her lap, glaring intently at them.

"Perhaps not to you, dear, but I have a head for politics." Mother explained, lifting a spoonful of sugar into her tea, stirring so that her spoon rattled against the porcelain. "The way they let that girl behave is appalling, and for a princess even more so. Letting her run wild, armed, uneducated, going on raids, _really_! Is that any way for a young lady to behave? A woman can rule as well as any man if not better, but the _right_ woman, Regina."

"And Emma's not, is that what you're saying?" Regina could hear the strain in her own voice, hear it rising. Daddy shot her a worried look, as if to tell her to leave it alone. "Because she's done more for me in ten years than you have my entire life."

Too far.

She knew it, regretted it fiercely the instant the words had left her lips. Regina froze, shocked at what she had done, fear running through her veins like ice. Cora rose from the table suddenly, eyes wide. However heartless she tried to seem, however much she tried to shield her emotions – sometimes they still shone through. This was one of those times. The anger in her eyes, flashing, in the way she held herself, in the breath entering and leaving her lungs was almost tangible. Regina swallowed, hand finding her stomach. The words spilled out of her in a desperate rush. "Mother, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it, you know I didn't mean –"

"Henry, get out." Cora snapped. Her voice was very cold and precise and sharp, like ice.

"Daddy –" Regina heard her voice start to say, very small in her own ears. He sighed heavily, wide eyes finding hers painfully, apologetically for a moment before he obeyed. The door slammed shut behind him so loudly it made her jump in her chair, and then it was just her and her mother, and their unfinished business.

Her mother waited a long time to say something. "Get up." She strode around the table, so that she was right beside Regina's chair. "Get up." Regina got up, sliding her chair back and pushing it under the table again afterward. "Look at me." It would not do for her to seem weak, or defeated now, however scared she was. She refused to show her fear. Regina looked at her.

The slap came out of nowhere, a sudden stinging pain exploding across her cheek. Regina heard herself gasp, curling her fingers to fists and gritting her teeth as she steadied herself. She would _not_ let Mother see her cry. She raised a tentative hand to her face, where the hurt was beginning to throb through her skin in a searing, stabbing ache. It would be tender there for days. The tears gathered behind her eyes unbidden, so she clenched her teeth harder, forcing herself to restrain them. When she brought herself to speak at last, her voice was shaken but not breaking. "Will that be all, Mother?"

"You ungrateful little wretch," Cora hissed, manic with palpable fury. "After everything I've done for you. I am your mother, I made you. Without me you're nothing. I've given everything for your future, Regina. And even though you continue to disrespect me and ignore me and paint me as the villain in your pathetic story, I will continue to do so. I will make a queen of you, so help me, we've come too far." Regina flinched, certain she would strike her again. Instead, her mother's eyes only hardened and her voice somehow softened and took on a new edge at the same time. "Would she? Oh, my darling, would your precious Emma still stand by you if she saw how weak you truly are? Will she still love you in ten years?" She was so close to her now, her next words were barely more than a whisper. "Will she even remember your name?"

Regina blinked. Her face had begun to throb. It was a familiar sensation. Regina knew it would start to bruise soon, and then Mother would go on and on about her ruining her face. (Because she provoked her, she needed the punishment. It was her fault, always her fault, never Mother's. Mother just cared for her too much.)  
"You may go to your chambers and stay there until I see fit, I won't look at your face anymore." Cora snapped, and added in the hiss of a snake, "But I want you to know something. She is not for you, and you are not for her. Do you understand?"

Regina might not have known what her mother meant by that, but she knew one thing. She had made Emma a promise not to lie to her and for ten years she had kept that promise - but she had made her mother no such vow.

"Yes, Mother."  
Regina went to her chambers.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N ~** And so the plot begins. Thank y'all for waiting so patiently and being so lovely. It's another mammoth of a chapter, full of angst but I know the end will be worth it... Trust me. *Insert frog drinking tea here*

 **5.**

"How long have these attacks been going on?" Her mother's voice was grave. Emma watched her intently to see how she would respond. Snow's face was set, brow furrowed, and Emma could see the concern blazing in her eyes.

"Honestly, your grace..." Lord Calhern sighed heavily, settling back in his chair and steepling his fingers resignedly. "We don't know. We've been aware for less than four weeks, with three raids in the past month. But this could have been happening long before it was called to our attention."

Emma stared back at her mother; she could see the outrage flash behind her eyes. She leaned forward across the dark mahogany council table. " _Weeks_?" She stared between Calhern and Atera and the rest. "Why were we not alerted sooner?"

Calhern collapsed into a sigh. "The small council exists to handle _small_ _matters_ , your grace, and what with your new treaty with Ethervale, we thought it would not be prudent to trouble you any further."

"Our lands have been attacked _three times_ with no consequence because you wished _not_ _to_ _trouble_ _me_?" Snow's voice was rising, incredulous.

Emma's stare flickered around the council chambers. Shortly after her seventeenth birthday her parents had decided it would be fitting for her to join them at their small council meetings to get a better idea of how the country was run. This was only her third or fourth time, but it certainly was the most eventful. The room was small enough that the tension seemed to bounce between the thick stone walls and pile up on the table.

Her father was seated in the rectangle of light from the window, and it shifted across his features as they grew both harder and softer at once. "Where?" He demanded grimly, and Emma knew he didn't want to hear the answer.

"First Knavesmire, then Ireford and Ulworth, your highness." Sir Alyn informed him. He looked almost nervous at the response.

David swallowed hard. "They're moving up the causeway. Whoever it is, they're trying to strike fear into the outlying towns, make them feel cut off."

"And it's working." Snow added harshly. "Because we had no idea."

Emma's heart sunk to the pit of her stomach and laid there, heavy and cold. However selfish it was, she couldn't help the thoughts running painfully through the back of her mind. _Why now?_ Now, as she neared the precipice of leadership. It was a matter of months now until her eighteenth birthday. She twisted her fingers against the side of the table.

"We'll send a scouting party after them," Her father decided dourly. "To collect information as well as defend the people if it comes to it."

"If they follow the same pattern they'll hit Maybridge or one of the outlying river towns next." Snow added. Emma stared. In an instant, both of her parents seemed to have tackled their shock and begun plotting their counter move. _Now that,_ Emma thought, _is how you rule a kingdom._ "Do we know anything about them? It seems too strategic to be common brigands."

"Oh, to be certain." Calhern agreed. "There's something off about the whole thing."

"I say we send a party out as soon as we can. These people seem to be moving fast." Her father raised his voice, casting his stare around the room. "Are we agreed?"

A collective murmur of assent rose up from the gathered lords. Emma watched anxiously as her mother lifted a hand to silence them. "I suggest we send a small group, nothing that would attract too much attention. Young, honourable men with no great deeds to their names yet. Sending anybody with too much of a warrior's name for themselves could be construed as an invitation to battle." She gazed around the group of men, eyes hard and unyielding. "We want to avoid bloodshed as much as possible."

"New knights, then," Her father told them. "I'd personally recommend Sir Ragnar Threll and his brother. Sir Edgar Wren, maybe."

Snow nodded her consent. "Perwyn Callow, too. All strong warriors and noble men, but none of them right to lead this task."

"I'll go."

Emma heard the words spill from her mouth before they even formed in her mind. She could feel a dozen stares instantly fix on her. Mind racing, she exhaled slowly, and somehow knew from somewhere deep within that this was the right thing for her to do. She might not be able to tell her wheat point from her will, but _damn it,_ she could swing a sword. She could be amongst her brothers and her own land and protect it the only way she knew how. It was a long shot but maybe, just maybe, if she did this – if she stopped these outlaws from wrecking their havoc on her land – then maybe it would prove something. To herself if nobody else. She swallowed, and found her breath rising and falling easily for once. Already she could feel herself strengthening, her mind racing with strategy and steel, her broken edges knitting back together as they always did when she decided something for herself. However temporarily.

"Princess, I do not think that would be wise –"

"Stop talking," Snow commanded. Alyn fell silent immediately. For the first time, Emma braved lifting her gaze and levelling it across to her mothers. She made sure not to relent, or slump in her seat, or look away. Right now she had to look strong, and sure as she felt, and as mature as she never did. Her mother was staring at her with the strangest expression on her face. "Emma. Do you mean that?"

"Yes," Emma told her truthfully. Slowly, it dawned on her that she had never been surer of anything. When she spoke, she spoke from that twisting hot place deep in her chest. "You want me to be leader, well, I'm offering. I need to do this."

"You know what you're offering, Emma?" Her father pressed. "I'm not sure this is the best idea."

"I know you don't," Emma straightened her spine against the back of her chair, raising her head to the practised stance she always forgot at balls. "But I'm not a little girl anymore; I'm capable of making my own decisions." There were more than a dozen men seated around the table; lords and seasoned knights and masters of coins and whispers. Advisors and bannermen from across the land. But Emma spoke only to her parents. "It's my land too. And they're my people."

"You're starting to sound like a leader." Her mother's smile was thin and conflicted.

Neither husband nor wife looked encouraging, let alone pleased. But when they exchanged that still small look, pained eyes meeting, she knew that they would have to let her go.

-0-

Regina sat on the sill beneath the window and willed the light to swallow her up. It seemed to her that the world was falling apart.

Two days earlier she had received a letter, informing her that the high princess Emma Swan was to depart on the moons turn to lead a party south against unknown raiders. That she had been personally requested to join the feast that would send her off. As if that was of any comfort to her, as if that made it any better. Emma had been on scouts before, on hunts in unsafe land but to lead a band of knights against enemies of the crown... Regina told herself a thousand times that Emma was a good warrior. A good fighter. And the task's danger would be minimal. The chance of anything happening to her was slim as it could be. But that didn't matter, because it was still there.

She leaned back against the glass, allowing the pale morning light to wash over her, closing her eyes to the day. Her feet and the hem of her dress skimmed the ground now as they never did before. Regina swallowed, the letter still caught crumpled between her fingers. She focused on breathing. They would embark on the journey to Callendor in a few days. There would be a feast, and a gathering in the yard as the party set off the next morning. The worst part was that Regina didn't want to do anything if she could. Because she knew Emma – she _really_ _knew_ _her_ – and she knew that this was her own choice and an important one. She knew that this was something she felt she needed to do. So she had to be encouraging.

"Regina!" Regina sat up sharply at the sound of her name cracking through the air like a whip, folding the letter in her palm and dusting her dress clean. "Regina, darling, it's time."

Her heart sank. _Of course._ Before they left for the White Palace, there was still the _most important morning of all our lives_ to get through. King Midas had stopped over the night on his travel to a council in Salmere. Her mother had been near hysterical with triumph. "Mother," Regina greeted, standing hastily and righting her posture.

"There you are, dear." Cora swept through the hall, stance rigid, eyes sparkling as she fell upon her. She swept her gaze critically over Regina from head to toe and back, in that way that seemed to emphasize all of her fault and make her strengths shrivel and die. "Oh no, this won't do at all."

With a crisp wave of her fingers, Regina had been redressed in a deep blue gown that clung to her chest and hips uncomfortably. Ridiculous, really. _Whoever_ _sits_ _around_ _their_ _home_ _in_ _a_ _frock_ _like_ _this?_ A raise of her fingers told her that her hair had been released from its comfortable braid and now hung across her shoulders, pinned back from her face. She stared, incredulous.

"Oh dear, still pining over that silly letter?" Cora sighed disapprovingly, snatching the paper from Regina's tightly-curled grasp and vanishing it into thin air with a wave of her hand. Regina gaped. Her mother's eyes found hers, hard and unflinching. There was something else there too, a threat that she had only caught glimpses of before. "You are not going to spoil this for us, Regina. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, Mother." Regina told her, recalling their talk from the previous night. Mother had gripped her wrist so tight it bled afterwards, while she told her of all the things she shouldn't do when she met with the king.

"Good girl." Cora said grimly, with nothing good behind her tone at all. She snatched her hand hard in her cold grip and led her across the hallway, into one of the richest leisure chambers on the estate. _What else, for a king?_ When the door slammed shut behind them it felt like a prison sentence. Regina tried not to stare as her mother thrust her to the centre of the room. The man leaning against the far wall was a stranger and not a stranger all at once. The tales of King Midas of Aurumford and his golden touch reached far. Of course, she was not to ask about it like a gossiping kitchen hand. "Your grace," She announced, tone laced with so much formal reverence it seemed unbelievably fake. Regina wondered if the man truly bought it. "May I present to you my daughter, the Princess Regina,"

Regina accepted her cue, hurriedly dropping into a deep curtsey. She waited for the king to tell her before she rose, just like Mother warned. "You may rise, my lady." Regina straightened as elegantly as she could (which she doubted was a lot), keeping her eyes lowered respectfully while she searched his features and hoped Mother wouldn't notice. He was a shorter man than she had expected. It was a strange thing to focus on, really, but the stories had made him seem somewhat bigger. His weathered face was neither handsome nor especially ugly, beneath a mane of brown-blonde curls. Darker and tighter than Emma's. The gold bauble hanging around his neck gave her some pause but that was all. She tried not to stare at the glove on his hand. He gave a smile that did not reach his eyes while he appraised her, as a farmer would look over cattle before he bought. "It's a pleasure."

"The honour is all mine, your grace," Regina managed, swallowing hard. She could feel Mothers eyes glued to her as well as the kings. It was unsettling. "The tales of your valour and gallantry do you no justice. Your grace."

That widened the smile on his face, but in an ordinary way, as if he was used to hearing such blatant lies. He probably was, the pampered fool, Regina reflected, trying her hardest to keep her smile fixed in place rather than grimacing. "What sweet words." He said thinly, with a look in his eyes that told her he did not care at all. Well, he might not have and Regina certainly didn't, but Cora cared enough for both of them.

"Please, your grace, have a seat." Cora urged, looking almost possessed with her icy kind of joy. The servant lingering in the corner pulled out one of the chairs clustered by the hearth for him. The king said, with a huff that betrayed his dragging age. Regina sat in one of the seats opposite and silently despised him. Mother drew up the chair beside her. "When will you be departing?"

"I will not trouble you much longer, my lady." He assured her tonelessly. "Perhaps an hour. The Salmere nobility are a troublesome lot, prone to quarrels and rows, however handy they are in a fight. I should not like to keep them waiting."

"Of course," Cora agreed. "Though I must admit, it had been many years since I last visited that land, and Regina has not ever been."

Regina would have sighed if her corset let her. She should have known better than to think her mother wouldn't find every way to subtly redirect the conversation to her. "Oh. How very sad for her." The king turned his gaze to her once more, lazy stare roaming. "How old are you, my lady?"

"I will be eighteen on the next month, your grace," Regina told him. _As you were thirty years ago, by the look of you._

"A fine age." King Midas murmured, with disinterest.

"If you would be so kind as to excuse me for a moment, I will have the servants prepare some tea." Mother announced abruptly, rising and leaving in a flurry of skirts and smiles within seconds. The king looked so unfazed by her departure that Regina swore they must have planned it. She knew better than to stare after her for help that would not come.

"I have a daughter not much younger than you. My Abigail." He told her. "I may have more gold than I could ever spend and yet my greatest treasure is her. It's funny, isn't it, the things that matter to us?"

Regina nodded uncertainly. She did not know where this was going, suddenly feeling very abandoned here with this strange man, feeling the conversation dwindle. She schooled her features into a smile once again. "Yes, your grace."

"I've been meaning to find a husband for her. There was an accident with her true love, see, tragic thing. It can't be helped." He had assumed the look of a man talking to himself. Regina doubted he'd even notice if she stood up and left. "That Salmere oaf keeps on at me about his son, Eric, I think. But honestly the boy would not be my choice, always mooning about the ocean with a head full of seaweed." _And what of your daughter's choice?_ Regina thought sourly. "Of course, if I decline that could mean the end of the alliance. If I accept then those Seafort louts won't be happy, and may end their treaty. They're offering a son, too, and him the heir."

"I'm a believer in marrying for love, your grace." Regina offered earnestly. Now she could talk, and helpfully too. Mother had taught her all kinds of politics since she was little. "But if this is what you think is best then you have to consider that Seafort is much smaller than Salmere, barely a true kingdom, and their army is smaller too. Though they share their coast border to the south, Seafort's mother castle lies on the coastline, surrounded to the south west by water. It's difficult to defend, and Seafort's wheat point is lower. Salmere is a much more influential ally."

She tried a more genuine smile when she looked over at him, but it died on her lips when she saw how his eyes had darkened. His mouth were set in a thin hard line. "You presume to tell me what to do, girl?"

Regina stared, heart speeding up against her ribs. _How could that have offended him?_ She swallowed, hurrying to appease him, ice in her veins. "No – no, not at all, your grace, I only –"

"But you did." King Midas did not look impressed.

"Forgive me, your grace, I never meant to overstep my boundaries." Regina assured him. She had her voice under control now. "I just meant to give you some advice."

"If I want _advice_ , I go to my _advisers_." The king told her harshly. Regina's stomach twisted. If she had truly angered him... And she had. She knew it. The whole rest of their conversation his eyes were hard, and his attempts at small talk grew smaller and smaller until they dwindled down to nothing. She tried _desperately_ , but it was like Emma always said, you could never go back. Her heart pounded frantically, her hands fidgeted with nerves and her mind was a mess. She had upset the wealthiest king in the Enchanted Forest. And Mother was going to be back soon.

No sooner had she dared think it did it come true. Mother swept through the doorway and Regina swore her heart stopped. She stared between her and the king and her hands. Mother paused for only a second, surveying the situation. Regina watched her expression curdle, breath tangled up between her ribs like a snared animal. The ice was burning in her veins, snaking fingers of prickling heat slithering down her spine. She couldn't breathe.

"They'll bring the tea when it's done." Cora smoothed her skirts, about to sit when the king cut her off.

"You must forgive me, my lady, but I fear I should be readying my party." He stood abruptly. "I am a busy man, and I have places to be."

Regina watched her mother's face fall. It was just for a second, before her practised smile hurried back into place. She was staring so intently she didn't think anyone else would have seen it. "Of course, your grace."

Mother gave her a look and she rushed to her feet to curtsey again before he left. And then the door swung shut louder than anything she'd ever heard, and they were alone.

"What did you do?" Cora's façade dropped instantly. Regina's stomach turned to knots, her every muscle tensed as if it knew she should run or fight or do any of the things she never did. Her hand fisted in the fabric of her dress. She knew if she clenched her hand normally she'd start to bleed. Mother rounded on her, striding across the room so fast she scarcely had time to fall apart. Regina's burning blood had frozen over in her veins, heavy, rooting her to the spot. She could only stand and try to breathe as best as she could. She had never seen her mother like this before. Her most terrifying rages were the icicle ones, cold and sharp, with soft words and razor smiles. This was something implausibly different. This was fire. Regina gasped as Mother's hand shot into the air, and all the breath left her body. "The _king_ of _Aurumford_ just rushed away like he couldn't wait to be free, Regina, _what did you do_?"

Regina choked on the emptiness in her lungs, frantically gasping for air that never came. The weight on her chest crushed like a boulder, the burn in her throat was overpowering and all of it was laced with the familiar tingle of magic. It felt like a century before Mother finally released her. She wasn't aware of crumpling to the ground but when she opened her eyes all she saw was floor. She gasped desperately, sucking in ragged gulps of air. Fresh, clean air, unevenly returning to her. The burn lingered when she coughed – violent, degrading noises that set her stomach lurching and her fingers scrabbling across the cold hard floor – but breath soothed the rest from her chest. "I never meant –" The words lodged in her throat, they stung so badly. Still gasping for control of her lungs, Regina only realized the thick, hot tears were streaming from her cheeks when they started to cloud her vision.

"Stop your whimpering and get up," Cora snapped venomously, fury coiled like a whip between the words. Regina heard the threat. She scrambled to her feet as best she could with her lungs still strained and frantic, skirts tangling around her feet. She could feel the burn crawling in her cheeks. _Damn this stupid dress._ Breath falling back into a rhythm, Regina swallowed the pain and forced herself to look her mother in the eye. She would _not_ look afraid now. Cora seemed angry that she wasn't trembling. "What did you do?" She repeated forcefully.

"He was struggling with a decision," Regina's voice sounded low and broken to her ears, like stones rasping over each other. It still stung her throat to speak. "He didn't know who to marry his daughter to, I tried to give him advice." She paused, and in a fit of bravery or stupidity added, "You always told me to know my politics."

"Stupid girl," Cora sneered. "You don't let men like _him_ see it!"

"I thought I was helping!" Regina cried defensively, tightening her grasp on the dress, taut across her stomach. She scowled, incredulous. "Mother, please!"

"You have just destroyed everything that I've been working towards since the day you were born. You pathetic waste of my energy, you –"

"There will be other visits by kings, Mother –" Regina tried, half-heartedly. She knew there was no point even trying, but her mind was still sluggish from choking.

Cora stepped closer, so violently Regina flinched, expecting some great tirade of pain. The only pain that came was in her mother's irate, uncaring eyes. She forced herself to look, forced back the tears gathering thickly behind her eyes. She would _not_ shed more tears for this woman. "This wasn't about a _visit_ , you fool," She hissed, voice almost shaking with rage. Her voice dropped very quiet. "You would have been queen."

Regina balked. "You mean – you mean..."

She was expecting the slap. She knew the pain like an old friend. But this felt different. Pain exploded across her skin at the fierce, backhand blow but she only cried out at the sudden, searing _tearing_ in her lip. She staggered, somehow forcing her swimming head to stay upright. Her mouth danced in ghost-like agony: when she raised her fingers to her face they came away shining red. Her hands fell to catch the hot scarlet rush spilling from her skin. She stared. Vaguely, she was aware that it was her blood, but she wasn't afraid. It didn't seem real. The pieces didn't connect until she saw the ring glistening on her mother's finger.

Regina pressed a hand hard to the sticky, stinging mess on her face and hurried from the room. Mother didn't try to stop her.

She passed Father on her breathless flight to her chambers, and he must have followed her because once she had collapsed on her bed he was beside her offering a wad of rags. Regina pressed them to her lip, glaring at the wall with a lump in her throat as the cloth slowly turned damp. After a long time, her father reached up gently to prise the rags from her. His wide eyes shone as he took in whatever damage had been done. "I hate her." Regina spat, drawing her knees tightly to her chest.

And it was true. For all the thick black love she bore like a crucifix for her mother, she did hate her. And that hate had never betrayed her, or blinded her or hurt her from the inside out. That thought made Regina feel oddly strong, powerful inside. _Yes_ , she thought. She may love her mother until she died, and that was her curse, but by God she hated her, and perhaps that was her salvation. She was pulled back to the moment by Daddy's touch, tentatively brushing over the tender place above her lip where Mama's ring had cut her. "You are no knight, my brave girl." He told her. "But you are a fighter."

Three days later, the morning they were to depart for Callendor, Regina had become numb to her mother, and the scar above her lip. The only thing that set her bones alight was Emma, and the thought of loosing her tomorrow.

-0-

Emma picked at the hangnail on her thumb.

She'd been greeting people all day, shaking hands with the select few lords and ladies thanking her for her courageous service to Callendor, amongst the other knights who would accompany her on her mission. It was too much. Far too much. This was supposed to be the one thing she could control. When they'd told her that that the Princess Regina and her parents had arrived hours ago, there was no other option.

She walked the familiar stone hallways of her home, head bowed against the coloured light falling over her from the stained glass windows. As she had every night since they were nine years old, she'd requested Regina stay in the room with the blue silk drapes. Walking there curled the edges of her mouth into a smile no matter how she felt, like muscle memory. Like swordplay. She drew to a stop in front of the door, knocking three times on the sturdy oak.

It swung open, and for the first time in her life Emma didn't break out into a smile at the sight of her.

Regina's dark eyes were hard and unsure, almost defensive, as she stood beneath Emma's gaze. Her eyebrows drew together slightly, arms wrapped around herself. Emma felt her breath catch in her constricting throat, the furrow between her brows, frown shocked. The anger that surged, white-hot from her stomach, through her chest, threatened to bubble over shocked even her. Emma stared. Regina's gaze flickered up sheepishly to meet hers. Without thinking, Emma had drawn in, hands curling around Regina's waist to pull her closer. Her eyes searched her. The lump of unsaid words hardened in her throat. She wasn't even going to try and speak around it. Instead, Emma raised her fingers to gently brush over the short pink scar above her lips.

"She did this to you." Emma managed at last. It wasn't a question. Hearing the words out loud made it real. Made the anger in her gut rise up and lash through her.

Regina looked up at her, mouth tight. "Emma..."

"I'll kill her," Emma heard her voice say, choked with thick hatred. Beneath her fingers, the scar was tight and glaring, screaming at her. "I'll kill her."

Regina laid her hand over Emma's and, gently and firmly, took it from her scar to Emma's chest. Over her heart. Her skin was warm and soft. "No." She told her softly. "You won't."

Emma tried to nod. But it was hard to do anything with the scar staring at her, accusatory. Far beneath the rage, in a deeper darker place, failure weighed heavy. She didn't know how. She didn't know why. She didn't know what at, but all the time that scar was staring at her, she had failed. Her mouth was dry with words she couldn't think. Emma searched for something to say. "I should stay." She realised, fiercely, hand tensing beneath Regina's.

"You shouldn't stay for me." Regina corrected her bluntly. "Look, I know you, Emma. It's been so long that I _really_ know you." Her eyes, wide and shining, flickered down and back up for a moment. "I know you're afraid. I know you're a warrior. I know there are things you need to do regardless or me and mine. If you want to help other people you have to help yourself first."

Emma smiled, though she didn't know why. "Anyone ever tell you you're a genius, Regina Mills?"

The next morning, Emma rose before dawn with a tight twist in her chest that spoke of something starting.

She rose as the moon sunk down, sending a boy to ready her horse with the others. She'd had her roll packed days ago. Now, all there was to do was dress, break her fast and leave. There was a feeling in the air, as if the world was holding its breath. Emma stood before the window as she collected the odd pieces of ceremonial armour she was to wear as they set off. In truth, she doubted she would need armour at all on this mission. But tradition lived, and her family were nothing if not traditional (Emma swore sometimes that she was something else entirely, a changeling baby swapped in the night. She thought that maybe today was changing that.) Slowly, the day awoke around her, and the yard below the window rose with the sound of shouts and barking and rumbling carts.

There was a strange energy about it all. The dim spill of dawn flooded blue and grey from the high, thin window, stripping the world of its colour and bathing it all in a spectrum of silver and blue. Emma breathed slowly while she fumbled with the stubborn straps of her breastplate. She heard a stir in the shadows behind her. When she turned over her shoulder, pushing unbound blonde hair from her face, a whisper of a smile brushed over her lips and her heart at the sight.

"Must you go?" Regina murmured, moving through the room like a shadow of light, to stand beside her. Her words from yesterday had been abandoned, it seemed, in the face of her feelings. Emma caught the whisper of a tremor beneath her steel voice and smiled.

"This is something I need to do." She told her, yanking on the strap at her shoulder. It was all tangles and knots.

"I understand." She told her, and Emma knew she did. If anybody did, it was her. With her voice threatening to break, Regina launched slowly into action like she always did, to distract herself when she didn't want to look something in the eye just yet. Emma almost smiled at how reliably Regina she was. "Here. Let me." Gently, she took the breastplate strap from her, eyes focused.

"Do you even know how to do that?" Emma asked, glancing down at where her head was bowed beneath loose dark hair, small fingers deftly working at the leather.

"My father was never a warrior," Regina told her, pulling at it. Every so often Emma could feel the tickle of her gentle fingers, the brush of a slender wrist against her shoulder. "But he was still a prince. He used to wear ceremonial armour to events." Emma leaned her head sideways to make it easier on her, pushing her loose curls across her other shoulder. "I liked to help." She could feel her breath beside her. "There." Regina intoned, lifting her fingers tentatively without stepping back. "All done."

Emma turned to thank her. She'd underestimated how close they were. In the thin blue light of dawn, the world was a mass of soft edges and dying starlight, and the breath congealed in her lungs, reluctant to come in or out. Beneath a layer of powder, the scar on Regina's lip was healing.

"I can't sew very well. I don't like to. But I made you a token. I want you to wear it." Regina murmured, pressing the cloth into her palm. "For luck."

In that moment Emma was glad she was a few inches taller, so that they could stand this close without any awkwardness. When Regina lifted her gaze softly to hers through her dark eyelashes, Emma felt it like a blow to the chest. She didn't now, of course, downturned look fixed resolutely on some invisible point between them. Emma stared. She was just so beautiful. And they were so close. If Regina just tilted her head up slightly, or she hers down – apparently Regina was a mind reader as well as perfect, because in a lightning fast second she had lifted to her toes to brush her lips across Emma's. Something inside of her collapsed. (It always did). Regina's small hands rested lightly on her shoulders as she lingered there, against her. And as happens sometimes, a moment settled and hovered and remained for much more than a moment. And sound and time and movement dropped from the world and everything was perfectly still for much, much more than a moment. _How right the world was then._ When gradually time awakened again, Emma leapt to action before her mind could catch up and tell her otherwise, moving her mouth softly against Regina's, moving her hands up to rest on her back. Her skin was warm beneath hers, and that heat bled through her skin and Emma's, and the rest of her Emma's body too, filling blood and bone and muscle until it reached her soul. That invisible place where her feelings lived.

After an infinity they parted, and Emma rested her forehead against Regina's. She saw her eyes flutter shut, the sharp intake of breath. Regina sighed a tiny sigh that Emma wouldn't have heard if the world was still turning.

"Come back to me," Regina said (demanded, pleaded, ordered, prayed). Her voice was very small.

Emma caught her gaze and refused to let go. Turning a strand of dark hair absently between her fingers, she could feel a sad smile curling at the corners of her mouth. "Always will."

And it was funny: through it all, Emma would never remember falling in love with Regina. She would only remember holding her in her arms and dreading the moment she would have to let go.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N ~** TW for verse-typical blood and violence in this chapter. You've been warned. Weirdly enough, this chapter also has a TW for absolutely disgusting, rose-tinted-lensed eighteen year olds and their gross Twilight sap.

 **6.**

"If anybody's listening," She swallowed, her voice low and shaken in her ears and echoing between the stone walls. She gripped her hands tighter together. "I've never really prayed before." She breathed in slowly, forcing herself to just be. "I know a dozen people can claim a dozen gods, but I never even paid attention to the common faith. I never felt the need." She hesitated. The floor was bruising her knees. "I have wished for fairies before. Fairy godmothers, pixies, shooting stars, I've tried a thousand times in my life and a thousand times nobody's answered. Maybe my mother made sure they wouldn't, or maybe my problems just weren't big enough but..." Regina drew in a breath and let it fill her with strength. "If you can hear me, bring her home."

The Mills estate was one of the newer buildings in Xalvadarr: it had been made without a chapel. But Regina was sure that if the gods existed, they'd hear no matter where you spoke from. Honestly she'd never given it much thought before. But nothing else was working.

She knew it was ridiculous. Emma had been gone _days_ , she wouldn't be anywhere near the actual danger. And yet... And yet she _was_. Because she was out there somewhere Regina didn't know. She was heading towards some unknown enemy. She'd said it was to find out more but Regina wasn't stupid. If it came to fighting there was nothing anybody could do to stop it. If, if. So many variables. She'd barely slept last night, making a list in her head of what could go wrong. What could happen, while Regina was trapped and helpless and safe between these familiar walls. Her heart felt hot and tight and her skin felt tense and her mind was ablaze all the time. Ultimately, none of that had tortured her as much as the not knowing. Nothing had helped. All she was thinking, all the time was what might be happening to Emma right now. So here she was, on her knees beside her bed in the pale evening light, praying.

"She's so young and she has so much in her that she hasn't given the world yet. There's so much I haven't said to her. So many years I haven't spent with her." Regina stared intently at her clasped hands. "So keep her safe while I'm too far away to."

Regina rose to her feet abruptly, feeling increasingly silly. She breathed in, and rubbed the worry from her eyes furiously on the back of her hand. She wondered where Emma was, or if she was in pain, somewhere far out of reach.

-0-

The glow of the flames was warm on her face when at last Emma brought herself to smile.

They had been riding six days, and for six days the rain had poured relentlessly. Her party, twelve strong, had departed with jests and songs, which had slowly been watered down by the weather. It wasn't so bad once they got into the denser forest, Emma thought – it was pretty, in the wake of the rain. But maybe she saw the world strangely. Puddles glistened like discarded coins in the soft brown mud all around, and though the canopy of foliage overhead gave some shelter, the drops that broke through slipped from leaf to leaf in a faintly rushing orchestra. The world shone, here in this endless emerald enclosure. She And Emma loved how wild it was too: plants and shrubs erupting into unrestrained bursts of colour amongst the black dirt; pines towering unapologetically in their fierce regiments, brushing branches with oak and ash and yew alike, roots jostling for space. The air was different out her. Cleaner, clearer, scented with soil and sinew.

On this sixth day, the rain had finally eased. With the low-skulking mists, their spirits lifted. Gradually they came to back to life. Emma sat atop Feather, listening to the storm of hooves and thin laughter and whispering branches, watching her breath and the horse's mist in the air. By the time they'd made camp for the night, fire lit and bedrolls strewn about, it was practically merry.

Emma slouched on one of the logs they'd found and dragged around the campfire, tin flask of boiled water clutched between her hands. The flames spat and crackled in front of her, warmth washing over her face. Crickets were chiming, leaves rustling as evening fell. Perwyn and Edgar were bickering again. It made her smile, for some unfathomable reason. Placing the water by her feet, Emma's fingers absently went beneath her leather tunic, to the pocket stitched over her heart in the linen shirt. Withdrawing her prize, she felt her smile change and soften. She had not donned her armour since their party set out, but she had guarded the scrap with her life.

Emma held it in front of her, running her eyes over it for the thousandth time. It was an uneven square of purple cloth, and the stitches were even more lopsided. Beneath the crude crown, what she assumed was a misshapen swan stared at her. It made her heart smile to think of Regina refusing help, stitching furiously despite everything.

"What's that?"

Emma jerked the cloth back protectively as Ragnar reached for it, stupid smirk playing over his features. She glared at him as he collapsed onto the log beside hers, smoothing the fabric out once again. "Nothing." She told him defensively, trying to stop her voice from getting all high and weird again. "Just something a friend made me, that's all."

His blue eyes tracked her, equal parts amused and suspicious. After flickering his gaze from the way her fingers curled around the fabric to her defensive face, he finally settled back. "Oh, aye. A _friend_." A smile twitched at his face. He dug around inside his doublet for a moment under Emma's scathing gaze before coming up with a painted bead strung on a cord around his neck.

She raised an eyebrow. "You wear women's jewellery. Am I supposed to be impressed?"

"My first ranging, I was your age or less. The day I was to leave, my sweetheart came to bid me goodbye. Said she had something for me and gave me this. Now, I was son of a steward, well off enough. I could have had my pick of gemstones or silver, but this was more precious than any of that, because she made it for me." He dropped it back under his neckline. "She said it would bring me luck. And every time I looked at it while I was away, I thought of her, and I didn't feel so scared." His smug smile widened.

Emma swallowed and shrugged. "What's that got to do with anything?"

The knight snorted. "I hope it works out with your friend."

She ignored him, turning her attention back to the uneven scrap of fabric between her fingers, and trying to pretend that her heart hadn't sped up against her ribs. Six days, the memory of the look shining in Regina's eyes before she kissed her had been haunting her. Her image was burned into the back of Emma's eyelids, the phantom of her warmth rarely leaving. Regina had kissed her. And she had kissed back. And it was only for a moment, but nothing had ever been more right than that moment. Things she could have begun to fathom in the moment had gradually crawled into her mind ever since. Like how her breath had felt against her lips, and the roiling, beating, twisting _rightness_ that had simmered in her stomach. The way Regina's eyelashes brushed her cheek. How strong and beautiful and herself Emma had felt afterwards. She could think about the kiss forever, but she couldn't bring herself to consider all it meant.

That night, Emma slept dreamlessly on the hard-packed earth with Regina's token over her heart.

-0-

Regina's hours of unrest beaded into days that pooled into weeks that had swollen to a month without word of Emma. The cutting, shifting nerves grew heavier in her gut with every passing day. She plunged herself into other things, riding hard and trying not to think, and sometimes it worked. But every time, waves of worry eventually found her like nausea. She felt so trapped, immobilized, like she wanted to scream. It didn't matter what she was doing, it was always in the back of her mind, running quietly around and around. _Emma is somewhere. She is going into danger. I don't know if she's alright._

"Regina, dear, do stop moping." Mother chastised, over breakfast. Her spoon clinked softly in her tea. "It's unbecoming in a young lady."

Regina didn't reply. She was too busy glowering into her porridge and not eating.

"The princess is a brave girl," Daddy reminded her softly. As if she didn't know, as if she hadn't been the first person to believe it. Regina didn't return his attempts at eye contact. "I'm sure she will return soon, good as new."

Cora sighed, folding her napkin abruptly and setting it down. "She's having a sulk, Henry, don't pander to her."

"You have to excuse me, I'm not hungry." Regina told them, rising hurriedly from her chair and fleeing her untouched breakfast. She heard the door slam shut behind her on Mother's disapproving tone. Feeling mildly sick, she ran up the staircase to sit down hard on her bed, pulling the drapes shut around the bedposts, and thinking only one thought: _why does this matter so much to me?_

Maybe she already knew the answer.

"Regina, sweetheart," It didn't take long before the knocking on her door started, and her father's voice, seeping through the wood. Regina huddled in the darkness on her bed, staring at the drapes and wondering if there was a way she could just not open them and stay in the calm steady blackness forever. "Can I come in?"

"Yes." Regina wrapped her arms around her knees. The drapes were so thick that they shut out completely the morning light; she had to squint to see her own hands. She heard the door open and fall shut, footsteps on the floor.

To his everlasting credit, he didn't try to pull back the bed curtains. He must just have been standing there. "Your mother is very upset at your behaviour."

"Good." Regina told the curtain in front of her sullenly.

She heard his heavy breathing. "I know how hard this must be for you. When I was a boy, the days my father or my brothers went off to fight were the hardest –"

"She's not _gone_ to fight," Regina snapped into the darkness. "She's just gathering information, it's a ranging, it might not ever even come to violence."

A sigh. "Oh, darling." Those two words were the heaviest things she had ever heard in her life.

She didn't know what it was about that that made her heart burst. In an instant she had launched herself out between the drapes, throat constricted, and thrown her arms tight around her father's neck. He was a small man, and she was almost taller than him now. Regina blinked at the grey stone floor over his shoulder, clinging to him like she did when she was a little girl. Remnants of his beard scratched her face. When she spoke, her voice was small and low and hushed, painful to her ears. "I'm scared, Daddy."

"I know," He nodded sadly as she pulled away, shining brown eyes searching her face intently. He sounded resigned. "We always are, for those we love."

Regina stared at him.

After a long time, his face broke out into a reluctant smile that felt more encouraging than it did happy. "You're a brave girl, sweetheart. I'll make an excuse so you can stay here until we get ready. The carriage leaves in a few hours yet."

"Thank you," she managed, watching him go. Regina's throbbing heart sank and stilled. A familiar ache was beginning to whir in her temples. If there was one thing she was not in the mood for now it was dancing. Grandfather was hosting King George; there was to be a great ball (because it seemed that was this kingdom's answer to everything), feasting and dancing. So, Mother was smug and she was drained and God, she wasn't ready for this. She wasn't ready for having to smile and behave and remember everything she'd been told when at last, Mother thrust her towards King George. She wasn't ready. Not without Emma. She doubted there was much she was ready for without Emma.

-0-

"Dismount," The word fell from Emma's mouth roughly in the morning fog, thick with the kind of command that fit her. "We go the rest of the way on foot."

Nobody disputed her. And it wasn't because she was their princess, their ruler, their future queen, Emma knew. It was because they were her brothers. And they respected her judgement. She squinted in the pale glare of sunlight, spilling harshly over the black horizon and splaying out in searing fingers of light as she tightened her grasp on the mare's leather reins. She swung herself down through the crisp air to land softly, narrow leather boots sinking into the mud. The breeze teased tendrils of her unbound blonde hair across her face as she breathed in, tossing her gaze across the land. The morning had dawned clear and bright, the landscape lush and green, moss-covered world wreathed in mist. The grey fog hung low, hugging the ground closely, as if the earth was breathing in the cold. It skulked around her ankles. Emma frowned out across the tumbled view.

They were just emerging from the forest, although the trees had thinned so much as they neared the edge Emma thought it was too sparse to be a forest at all. Before her, the road dwindled to a pathway barely large enough for one cart, winding across uneven grey-green hills. They were so close that beyond the last mound, she could see the darker grey smoke spiralling up to mar the colourless sky. It had been more than a month, and the heaviness in Emma's chest had not subsided. They'd passed Maybridge days ago, with no sign of any danger. Something was wrong.

Beside her, Feather whickered, and her breath clouded white and thin in the air for a moment. Around her, the men were dismounting, leaving their rides crudely stabled to branches. These were tough horses, made for hardship and war. Even so, Emma slipped an apple from her bag to hold out to Feather as she knotted her around the pine. This wouldn't take long. But she had a feeling about this place. Maybridge yet untouched, the other villages they'd passed safe too. There was a quiet anticipating hanging in the air, like the world was holding it's breath. Her muscles tensed as if they knew they would have to run or fight soon. If this place had not been harmed yet either... Emma wondered if they should keep travelling south discreetly, or just make themselves known. The pieces just... didn't fit. Whatever was going on, right now they had to stay quiet. A party of a dozen on horseback riding through a small outlying town would attract too much unwanted attention. Absently, her hand drifted to the breast pocket where her crowned swan token lay.

"You okay?"

Emma turned around. Sir Perwyn was frowning at her. The same grim confusion stirred in his eyes. She nodded, shaking off her thoughts. "Fine." She stared again at the smoke in the distance. "Let's go."

As the sun reared higher into the sky, she and the others made their way across the grass, weapons all discreetly hidden under purposefully-draped cloaks and coats. As they trudged over the hills, with a sombre quiet fallen over them like a blanket – today was not a day for jokes – Emma noticed something. She was in the front. The rest of them followed a little way behind her. It made her stomach jolt and her heart flip at the same time. While this was leadership, while this was responsibility, it had come naturally. Gradually, these men had silently accepted her leadership, began to value her opinions and lay their trust in her decisions. This kind of leadership, the kind that meant the wind in your clothes and a sword in your hand fit her like a second skin. It was the opposite of the political leadership, really, this tiny rule of twelve people. But it also made their lives hers to keep, and hers to loose, too. Emma shivered as they crossed the first hill. She was just a kid.

It took less than an hour for their band to reach the start of the village, a hay-strewn smattering of wooden buildings, the land all around penned for pigs and sheep and cattle, divided up for herbs and fruit. The minute they dawned on the place Emma's heart sank and her blood boiled. A people like this should never be targets. There didn't seem to be anything amiss; women carrying woven baskets snapped at red-faced children, a peddler in the street cried his wares. Nobody recognized her. They advanced down the pathway as the small buildings rose up around them. "We should wait a while." Emma decided quietly. "Find a tavern. Catch our breath."

Nobody argued. Something in all of them knew that it wasn't time to leave this place yet. There was an inn along the main street, a wooden sign with peeling paint swinging on a rusty hinge in the breeze. Outside the doorway, a skinny pair of boys younger than Neal played at swords, clacking sticks together and shouting. There were smiles on their faces but Emma felt sick.

Later, when they were seated at one of the splintering trestle tables in the comforting warmth of the tavern, she knew why.

"Raiders!" The man that appeared in the doorway was breathless and pink, his voice panicked and raw. The pure terror flashing in his grey eyes struck Emma in the heart. "The raiders from the west!"

Emma leapt to her feet before she could even think to process the information, the soles of her boots were pounding at the dirt ground. Outside, the boys were gone, sticks discarded in the dirt. Bile rose in her throat. Somewhere, there was screaming, a chorus of strident shouts and thundering heartbeats rising to a crescendo in her ears. These people had done nothing, _her_ people. The famers that gave her food, the smallfolk who made the world who she was bound to protect with her life, these innocent people were in her charge. All around, they fled. Babies in arms, they fled. Disgust rose through her, rising with the burning anger setting her veins alight. Down the street, a flood of darkly-clad figures were spilling out. Sunlight glinted off their bare swords.

Around her, her men drew their blades. Unaware of what they were doing, Emma ran to a child, little more than five years old, screaming in the street for his mother. Her people. She stared around frantically for any trace of the woman, quickly grabbing the child in her arms. His cries stopped in surprise. A man had appeared, fleeing from a crude house with a cloak in his arms. Emma thrust the child at him. He stared. Her people to protect. "Take him!" Emma heard her own voice shouting, raised against the chaos. "Take him and run! Go on, go! Get out of here, go!"

Once the man started running, Emma Swan drew her sword and turned on the onslaught.

Down the dirt path, her men had already integrated with theirs, the sky rang to the clangour of steel on steel, the shout of men injured. Hers, theirs, either. She grew up in a castle: scarcely a day had gone by that she hadn't heard those sounds, but somehow knowing it was real made all the difference in the world. _Remember what you're fighting for._ Emma ran to block one of the advancing men. She stared. Immediately, one thing was very clear. _These are no common bandits._ Their clothes were dark and simple but well made, it was clear to her. The blade he held in his hand was fine, craftsmanship faultless, and the helm on his head too. She swung her steel in an upward arc to block his slice, pressing on harder in his sudden pause. This was nothing like the steady, calculated way she fought in training. This was something else entirely, something primal lashing through her blood and driving her to hack and slash without remorse or thought. _My people._

His defence was strong but she cut on through. She was relentless, muscles flashing, heart drumming furiously as she spun and hacked. Her blade found its mark at last, biting easily into soft skin at his elbow. Her opponent's grunt turned into a long cry, that fuelled his next thrust. Emma dodged and slashed again. "Fucking crazy girl," He spat, blocking her thrusts slower and slower with every raise of his arm. Something didn't sit right about hearing his voice, but she slashed through. When Emma dared lower her eyes for a second she saw the dark stain spreading out across the cloth. _I did that._ With one last brutal push, the man toppled to the dirt. He scrambled to find his feet, but in his struggle the helm had fallen and rolled away from him.

Emma's heart stopped. "I know you." The hard green eyes, the brown hair, the scowl. Her frown deepened. She'd seen him before. More than once. At feasts, and anniversaries, places far from home. It hit her like a blow to the chest, crushing. It didn't make sense. "You're one of King George's knights."

He spat a glob of bloody phlegm into the dust, and grappled for his sword in the dirt. Emma plunged hers hard into his chest. Around her, men were dying and blood was running down cold metal. Vaguely, she was aware of its hot red spray against her face, the thick tears that flowed from her eyes. She could feel his insides yielding before the steel. He stared at her, remembering, before his eyes clouded over and he jerked on her blade and then stopped existing.

Emma pulled her blade out with a cry, rubbing the tears and the blood from her face. The world was wet and red. She choked on the air, staring around in horror. These men. She recognized more of them. The red-haired giant parrying Sir Edgar. The weaselly man with the broadsword. More still. She was breathing heavily, sweat sticking, hair floating limply around her. All of them. All George's.

When the fighting was done, and the dead men lay broken and unnerving in the pathway, Emma swallowed the lump of unshed tears lodged in her throat. She stood beside Sir Ragnar, tall and bloodied. "They're from Ironhaven." She told him bleakly. "They're all of them King George's valued men. Every one."

It was the first day she had killed someone.

-0-

Regina stood on the third of the wide marble steps that led up to the White Palace of Callendor, the air light and still around her. She squinted into the distance, peering over the walls of the lower courtyard and craning for a glimpse, any sign. Her heart was thrumming wildly in her chest. It had been since the day they received their letter from the Snow White's own steward; they'd had a raven. They might come if they wished to. Emma Swan was coming home.

Snow and David stood on the highest step, Regina's parents the step below them. A boy from the village had passed on the message; the princess' band was riding through the outer town. Regina swallowed, staring, waiting. It seemed to her that she waited there for a hundred years, before the familiar clop of horses hooves faintly pervaded the air. Her breath caught in her throat. _Emma._ The mess of unintelligible thoughts and tangled feelings cluttered in her stomach writhed as the sounds flourished.

And then, all of a sudden, through the open courtyard gates, there were horses. And there were riders. And there was a flash of blonde hair and a grey mare's mane and _she's come home, at last, she's home._ Regina stared, her every tensed cell collapsing into a sigh of relief at her first glimpse of the face she knew better than her own. The breath caught in her throat. Pure relief flooded through her, washed white-hot and tingling through her veins and her blood. Emma was dismounting, swinging herself off of Feather. She was so close. Slowly, her eyes flickered up to scan the figures scattered across the steps, searching. They caught Regina's. And then Emma was turning, and speeding up, and she was smiling like she was five years old again.

Every word her mother had ever said to her vanished from existence. Before she knew what she was doing, Regina had fisted her skirts in her hands and ran down the rest of the steps, hurrying two at a time, heart pounding, blood singing. She wanted to cry, and laugh, and dance, and punch her stupid, beautiful face for being gone so long all at the same time. Emma was running too now, matching Regina stride for stride. The fresh air rushed over her skin.

They collided hard, in a mess of arms and hair and heartbeats. Regina threw her arms tight around Emma's neck, burying her face in her loose blonde curls. She was overwhelmed by the achingly familiar smell of leather and cinnamon and home, but for once she was not ashamed of the tears welling thickly behind her eyes. Emma caught her with equal fervour, warm arms wrapping so tightly around her she lifted her off the ground for a second, squeezing her hard against her. She whimpered into Emma's hair. She could feel Emma's pulse jump against her cheek, the world was warm and soft and still, and nothing else mattered. Emma was safe and home and solid and warm and real, here in her arms. Emma's hand had moved to the back of her head, holding her firmly against her. She could feel her face in her hair. Regina wasn't sure, but she thought she might have been crying.

How long they stayed like that, she couldn't have said. She knew the rest of the welcoming party had fallen silent but she didn't care. When at last they parted, Regina breathed softly, hand lingering on Emma's warm cheek, reluctant to leave. She could still feel Emma's arms around her waist. She looked at her properly for the first time. Physically, she was unharmed, but there was some weight in her sea green eyes that had not been there before. "Welcome back," Regina smiled.

Emma collapsed, head dropping down onto Regina's shoulder for a moment. Regina laughed in spite of the world, hands finding blonde hair. When Emma lifted her head again, there was something else written across her features, softened and staring, that made Regina's smile freeze on her face and her heart shiver. She opened her mouth to say something but she'd forgotten how to speak.

"Emma!"

"We're so glad you're safe –"

Regina stepped back uncertainly as Emma's parents fell on her, wrapping her in their own embraces. Prince Neal ran at her, wrapping his skinny arms around her middle. A cold hand closed around Regina's wrist, yanking her sharply away. She stared over at her mother, tight-lipped disapproval evident, eyes almost embarrassed as they darted around the yard. She allowed herself to be led back into line. "Regina!" She hissed under her breath. "You young fools, you never think - such a spectacle. Do you have any idea what people are going to think?"

Regina didn't care what people were going to think. Emma was home. And that was all that mattered.

-0-

Emma sat cross-legged on the soft furs of her bed, by the light of the candle and the moon.

It was late now, but she knew she wouldn't be able to sleep even without trying. She didn't know why. The bed felt far too pliant beneath her, like a cloud, the furs and blankets too unbelievably soft against her. It was all so warm, and the dark night air was so still and silent. As if she was the only waking thing in the world. There were no crickets or howling animals or rustling trees. Just the breath coming and going from her lungs. Maybe she'd just need some time to readjust, or maybe she'd turned a little wild and couldn't rest in a civilized place anymore. Either way, she knew if she slept it would the dead mans face flashing through her subconscious all night. She couldn't remember a time when it hadn't.

It was good to be home. To see her parents and Neal again, hear them laugh (they wouldn't be laughing for long. Tomorrow, Emma would sit council and explain everything that had happened). To see Regina again was just... indescribable. She was surrounded by people she loved, people who loved her. And she was a murderer. She always knew she would end up here, somewhere deep inside, from the first time she picked up a toy sword. Stories were just stories. Battles always came down to butcher's work. And yet, _and yet_ -

A knock on the door shocked her from her thoughts.

Soft and tentative, but unmistakable nonetheless. _Who the hell's awake this late?_ Emma shook it off. Probably just a maid with new sheets who could see her candle under the door. She pushed her hair off her face. "Come in,"

The door opened with a groan of protest. Emma glanced up and her heart twisted. Regina was standing with her back against the door as she closed it softly behind her, uncertainly biting down on her lip. Her wide eyes caught Emma's, shining dark in the dim light. Emma rose to stand immediately, breath caught in her throat. She wasn't entirely sure why. She'd suddenly forgot how to speak. Regina stepped forward, around the foot of the bed, closer. It took a while for her to look at her again. "I couldn't sleep." She told her softly.

Emma nodded, staring. She'd clearly come straight from her bed, in the guest room with the blue drapes that nobody else ever used. Her dark hair was rumpled around her face. Since she'd been gone, the scar had faded to a small line above her lip. It still made Emma's chest flash with pain, but Regina didn't seem to mind it. Beyond the window, the night was the darkest shade of blue Emma could imagine, and the moonlight sent it scattering, stripping the world of colour and repainting it into this blue silver spectrum. It shone off Regina's eyes and caught in her hair. Emma stepped forward without thinking. Her heart was throwing itself at her ribs like it was a magnet and Regina's was solid gold.

It was only then that she realized how... _improper_ this whole situation was. Emma hadn't fully changed for bed yet, but the linen shirt unbound over her chemise, falling to the thighs of her worn leggings, was hardly modest. Regina was barefoot under her thin, white nightgown. The lump caught in Emma's throat grew a little, strangling, robbing her of speech. Thin enough that in the bright silver glow of the starlight, she could see the shape of her arms, her hips silhouetted beneath the fabric. She swallowed. This kind of thing had been fine when they were nine and sharing stolen strawberry tarts by lamplight in this same bedroom. But she wasn't nine anymore, and neither was Regina.

"It's stupid," Regina spoke softly, eyes trained firmly on hers. "I know you're back and you're safe now but I'm so used to worrying instead of sleeping, I can't stop."

Emma kissed her.

She didn't think about it, she didn't decide to. One minute she was standing there staring, and the next she'd leaned in to cup her neck and pull her closer and capture soft lips with her own, and that was it. It was different to last time. Last time it had lasted a moment, and then they'd parted ways. Now they had all the time in the world. Now they had time to... adjust. To notice all the things they never lasted long enough to before. Like how Emma could feel Regina's pulse jump in her cheek. How warm Regina's hands were on her back. How her stomach rolled and crashed like an ocean, infinite and heavy, or a universe coming into creation. How her blood tingled and her heart sang and she wasn't thinking anything at all except how long she'd waited.

It was intoxicating and sobering all at once. Emma slid an arm around Regina's waist, pressing closer and moving her mouth softly, _slowly_ against hers. Her heart had turned to fireworks. Regina raised a gentle hand to her face, leaving a trail of sparks on her skin, lips parting beneath hers. Everything else went away. She'd heard some of her maids talk about kissing like it was fire, but this was air and she'd been breathing wrong her whole life.

When at last they pulled apart, noses brushing, Regina's eyes were wide and reproachful. "Emma," She said. Her voice was low and her breath was unsteady and Emma loved it. She shook her head slightly, gaze firmly trained on hers. "We shouldn't."

Emma's eyes searched hers. Her arm was still around her, Regina's hand were still on her shoulders. Heart racing beyond belief, Emma realized something. "I don't care." She stared at her for a long time before she managed to ask the question. She thought she already knew the answer. "Do you?"

Regina looked at her with uncertainty shining in her wide dark eyes, until, at last a breathless smile curled across her features. She wrapped her arms around Emma's neck, sleeves falling down by her elbows, pressing herself closer. Grinning, she shook her head. "Not at all."

When their lips met again, Emma finally understood the fire.

-0-

Regina awoke to a world of warmth and softness and golden light. It was a world with no doubt or fear or hard edges, a world that smelled of leather and cinnamon and vanilla and home. She nestled closer against the warmth beside her, sighing contentedly. For a long time she lay still and happy, drifting in the land between waking and sleep and the heavy softness of the furs and the ethervescent gold glow of light and the thoughtless smile stretching across her face and her heart was all there were.

Gradually, the final clinging tendrils of sleep fell away. She was curled into Emma's side, arm slung across her taut stomach. She buried her face further into the blonde's shoulder, where light hair had tangled together with dark. Emma's arm wrapped loosely around the small of her back, holding her there. For perhaps the first time, Regina felt entirely at ease, beautiful and unafraid. She stretched her neck before propping herself back up on an elbow. The sunlight spilling in from the window crossed the room to fall against them, dancing across skin. It turned Emma's hair to gold, made the shadows of her eyelashes dance against her cheeks. Regina stared down at her and the breath congealed in her lungs. Vaguely, she knew they both should have been frantic about what the hell they'd done. It was hard when she was just so... happy.

"Morning," Emma murmured sleepily, eyes flickering open. She rolled over slightly beneath the covers, free hand pulling at Regina's elbow so that she dropped back against the pillows again. "Back... down." She smiled a drowsy smile, arm tugging her in closer and wrapping tightly around her to keep her there. "Better."

Regina grinned into the furs. "Pushy."

"You love it." Emma mumbled, shifting heavily and turning to look at her.

"Mmmm." Regina met her searching, sea green gaze, feeling the hint of a smile on her face. This was dangerous. This was so dangerous, and yet how could you be afraid of anything so soft and warm and close and comforting? She titled her head up to press her lips softly against Emma's, just for a moment. Her breath dissolved and her heart danced. When she drew back Emma was looking at her as if she was so _special_ , it almost hurt. She knew they were dancing on the blade of a sword, but she was too lost in the music to feel it cutting her feet.

Regina could see Emma's mind waking up behind her eyes, the tinge of sadness and worry crawling into the calm. Emma's smile never waved, small and soft as it was. Her hand toyed absently with Regina's hair. "Why'd you have to leave?"

"Because," Regina sighed lightly. She wouldn't be departing until tomorrow, but it would most likely be early in the morning. "I'm a princess of there and you're a princess of here."

Emma raised her eyebrows scathingly to show what she thought of that. She rolled flat onto her back again, stretching her arms out wide. "Well let's _not_ be princesses!" She declared, voice loud and sleepy. Regina grinned. "Let's just go to Arendelle or somewhere and I can be a knight and not have a name and you can do whatever you want and never be scared and we can go on – adventures," She yawned. "And we can get a cottage and have rabbits and not ever dance with stupid old men."

Regina snorted softly, running a finger along her cheekbone. "I think you're very tired."

"Yeah, and whose fault is that?" Emma protested, smirking.

Regina smiled breathlessly, feeling the heat colour her cheeks. "I believe you were the one that said –"

"Shut up," Emma told her decisively. She settled herself back on her elbows, wrapping an arm around Regina's shoulders to pull her closer and find her stare. "I cannot be held accountable for anything that I said. I'm pretty sure you're some kind of siren or something. And as long as I'm under your spell I can't be blamed for anything."

"You're ridiculous," Regina informed her, wishing she wasn't still smiling like a fool.

Emma beamed. "And _that_ is why you can't get rid of me."

Regina smiled despite herself, resting against her and a mountain of pillows. Emma's hand was draped over her shoulder, so she reached up to hold it with a warmth crawling across her cheeks. They stayed like that for a long time, until the golden light of dawn flooding the world subsided, the sky turned blue and the birdsong grew louder and louder. Eventually, Regina had to say something, because she knew Emma never would. "I need to leave," The words sounded heavy in the air between them. "Your maids will be in soon." Emma didn't say anything, just kept hold of her hand even as Regina tried to disentangle herself. "I don't think you know how this leaving thing works." She managed to sit on the edge of the bed, arm outstretched behind her. She turned to give her a look. "You have to let go."

Emma's eyes turned grave then, the complexities of the waking world filling back in. Her gaze flickered over Regina once, and then she dropped her hand. She swallowed, nodded. When she spoke again, her voice was clearer and harder and softer all at once. "Yeah." She rose from the bed suddenly, slipping a linen shirt over her head and striding quickly over to the large wooden wardrobe, opening the doors and rifling through its contents.

Regina frowned, confused. "What're you –"

A bundle of red cloth landed in her lap. Emma walked over, placing a pair of boots on the floor by her feet. "Put this on." Her eyes were like flint, but they softened at Regina's confusion. "You can't be seen walking out of here in just your nightgown."

"Thank you." Regina ran a finger over the fabric of the dress.

"Should fit you alright." Emma offered, anxiously rubbing the back of her neck. "I haven't worn it enough for anyone to recognize it easily." She paused. Her voice had lost the easiness of the morning. It had been replaced by the inhibition and fear of the day. "I'll have your things returned to you before you leave."

Regina nodded. The dress was a little long in the skirt and tight at the chest, but not noticeably ill fitting. It smelled of Emma. Once she'd tidied her hair and made sure she didn't look too rough, Regina hung awkwardly by the door. The sun was well up now; Mother would send for her for breakfast soon. Emma drifted over, now dressed herself, blonde hair hanging loose and tangled down her back. Easily as breathing, her hands found Regina's waist, her neck, achingly soft. Regina smiled painfully, leaning into her touch and slipping a hand up to brush a strand of blonde hair from her face.

"I'll come find you after my council," Emma promised. Her eyes were the colour of the sea, and now they looked as tempestuous.

"Only if you have time," Regina reminded her. The words stuck in her throat for a moment before they made it out. "We both have images to uphold."

It was an unspoken agreement they had, that whatever they did must stay between them. Regina knew it was not uncommon for women to lay with women, or men with men, but what she and Emma had done wasn't so simple. _Because we were unfortunate enough to be born noble._ They were both princesses, both expected to save themselves for political marriages and... Even if all of that went away, it still wouldn't matter. Mother had made her feelings about Emma perfectly clear and Mother was dangerous. No, they couldn't risk this getting out. Not when Emma's hands were so warm and perfect against her skin, when she was smiling like that.

"Yeah," Emma sighed. The kiss was warm and sweet; it lasted only a moment, with the light of the rising sun spraying pale gold around them, before they had to break away.

Regina lingered in the doorway a moment to glance back at Emma, fears beginning to crawl into her mind.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N ~** Double update time! As this is more of a transitional chapter, and a little shorter than usual I have decided, being my generous self, to post the next chapter after this as well. Thank me while you still want to. TW for mild panic attacks.

 **7.**

Her hands were shaking. Red-knuckled, cold skin over hot blood and trembling like no tomorrow. Her hands were shaking, but not so much as her mind.

She was eighteen years old. Today was the day Emma Swan would die, and the Crown Princess and Protector of the Realm, Emma of Callendor, First of Her Name, Heir to the White Throne would be born. All around her, in this castle, were lords and envoys from every kingdom in the land, come to see her take her oath. It wasn't like she was becoming queen yet – but she was acknowledging her coming of age, accepting responsibility for the people of her kingdom, pledging to live her life for the country, serve and die for the good of the realm. And Emma was falling apart.

The ceremony wasn't until tonight, and would be followed by a great feast and dancing, so she'd taken the opportunity to shut herself in her room and pace all morning. She'd tried to came herself down, but she knew there was no point. Her heart had been drumming three times faster all week: it made her chest tight and her breath quicken and her head spin, although maybe that was just the thought of tonight. She'd already been sick twice.

Emma sat on the edge of her bed, head in hands, concentrating on breathing. The thudding in her temples didn't help. Tonight, thousands of lives would be transferred into her hands. She would swear to keep them all safe, when the only promise she'd ever kept was to Regina. Tomorrow, she would be thrust further into the tasks of helping her parents run a kingdom. And someday, her parents would die and she'd be queen and everybody would be looking to her to reign as successfully as them. _How ridiculous this all is._ How could she step into that role, when the very thought of it made her want to run away. It was all unfair. Vestiges of yellow bile burned in her tight throat. Unfair on the people of the land, unfair on her family. She balled her fists tighter. Her stubby fingernails bit into the tough skin of her palms.

Sometimes she wondered if she was robbing Neal of a fate that should have been his.

She just wished it wasn't all happening _now._ Now, with the unspoken tension between Callendor and Ironhaven bubbling over. Emma was a lot of things, but she wasn't stupid. She knew all this with King George was boiling down to something. It just wasn't something she wanted to deal with. After word reached him that the Callendorian princess had slain several of his men, all trade had stopped between them and Ironhaven. Every letter had been ignored. There had been unease between the countries for years, Emma knew – she'd heard all about how their truce had been build on the deaths of George's father and brother. War had been brewing since long before she was born. She'd just heated it up a little. It would come. And Emma didn't want to face it when it did.

This was all selfish, she was being so selfish, but then again, she always was. She was selfish to have spent the past year sneaking secret kisses and hushed touches in the shadows of empty hallways and locked rooms. She was selfish to feel the way she did about Regina. She was selfish to keep going away on raids and scouts along the western borders for weeks on end, just because it made her feel comfortable, when she knew it always did the opposite to Regina. Regina, Gods, _Regina._ Regina was probably already here, waiting for her, wondering where she was. Emma couldn't breathe.

It only worsened as the hours dragged by, reluctant and abrasive. Beyond her rain-flecked window, she watched the sky mottle and darken like a bruise as her last day of freedom slipped away easily as a shadow. She hadn't realized how much time had passed until she heard the knock on her door, a harsh sound that shocked her from her trance. "Come in," She managed, working to keep her voice even.

Her mother spilled in then, with an arsenal of tailors and maids trailing after her. Emma's thoughts shot painfully around her skull cage, crashing into each other as the dress was fitted and adjusted and the night grew later and one by one, the queen sent away each of the servants until only she remained, standing behind her and expertly keeping the stream of small talk running while her fingers worked on Emma's hair. Emma kept silent and avoided looking her reflection in the eye.

"I know you're scared, Emma," Her mother said at last, voice tinged with pride and concern and a thousand other things she couldn't name. Emma's eyes flickered up to Snow's reflection in the mirror. "But you just have to trust me when I say I know you can do this."

She searched for any words that wouldn't make her throw up again. "Yeah,"

"Just say the words when you have to," Snow's voice softened. "And it'll all be over quickly."

 _No,_ Emma thought, _it won't ever be over. It never ends. This is going to be my life._ "But," She heard her voice saying quietly, "But what if I can't?" She stared at the grey rain shattering against the window pane, dripping slowly down. "What if I can't be everyone's hero?"

"Sweetheart," Her mother ran a hand gently through her hair. Emma twisted around awkwardly to find her gaze. A small smile crossed her face. "You already are."

Emma nodded. _I'm not._ "Okay."

When the time came, she lingered outside the great double doors of the hall, digging her nails hard into her skin and trying not to think. Beyond the thick oak, the music and the low hum of a hundred conversations reached her faintly, as if underwater. Beyond that door, everyone was waiting for her. Mother and Father and Neal and Regina and August and everyone else. Her throat was tight, constricting, choking, her skin felt all wrong, her heart was pounding a mad tattoo against the inside of her ribs. If she'd been able to eat anything else, she could tell she'd be sick right now.

Inside the hall, the music died. The chatter faded away. And distantly, she heard her cue. The doors opened. She took a step forward, and another. Emma felt dizzy. The warmth hit her hard, washing over her already searing skin. The light of the torches was bright and hot, tinging the room yellow. To either side of her, people were gathered. At the head of the room, in their thrones, were her parents, beside her brother in his seat. August shot her a double thumbs up as she passed him, but it didn't calm her. Her throat was suddenly very dry, all the moisture migrated down to her palms. She could feel a hundred pairs of eyes on her, a prickling, disorienting heat crawling across her neck and face. And then she saw Regina, flanked by her parents, lovely and pensive, brown eyes trained on her and by some miracle, she managed to make it to the end of the hall without blacking out. It sounded silly, like one of those unbearable romantic stories the library was full of, but the sight of her standing there gave her strength. Or maybe she was just delirious.

Somehow, at the end of the eternal walk down the hall, she managed to kneel with some kind of dignity in tact. She focused on the floor as her parents rose.

"Emma Swan," her mother's voice was gone: this was the voice of Queen Snow White. In most kingdoms she knew the ceremony was done by the heir's father, but here her mother was the true Callendor royalty, so it fell to her. Emma filled her lungs and cleared her mind. She could get through tonight, at least. "On this your eighteenth year, in the sight of gods and men, do you so swear to act in the best interests of your country, for this day, and all the days to come?"

"I swear." Emma echoed, raising her voice to echo off the high ceiling, even though the hush that had fallen over the crowd was complete. It sounded unfamiliar in her ears.

"And do you vow to protect every man, woman and child of this land to the best of your ability, until the day you die?" Snow went on. She was so good at this, voice perfectly paced and measured, composure flawless.

Emma breathed in. "This I vow."

"And do you agree to live your life in service of the realm, setting aside any selfish pursuits, to do all that you can in order for Callendor to prosper?"

She swallowed. "I do."

She felt the light, cold touch of the holy blade on first her left shoulder, and then her right. They'd build this ceremony up so much, she thought it would feel... Emma didn't know. Different. More special. As monumental literally as it was figuratively. It just felt like an old sword tapping her shoulders. "You knelt as a girl." Snow cleared her throat, pride inching into her voice. "Rise now as a woman, heir to the throne and protector of the realm."

Emma pushed herself to her feet, turning to face the people, and absorb the storm of applause echoing off the stone walls. It all washed over her like air. There was only one person whose clapping meant something to her. When she found her face amongst the crowd, faint smile curling at her lips, so much pride in her eyes, Emma swore she almost felt better.

She found her afterwards, as the musicians struck up a livelier number, and the thousand different aromas of the feast filled the air. Emma had to dance with her father first, as custom decreed, and then there were a dozen different lords and princes already trying to get a dance and curry favour with the future queen. But she'd managed to escape, somehow, head spinning, heart racing, and hide beside the feast table, scanning the whirling room for dark hair and brown eyes. When her search proved fruitless, Emma wove between dancing couples and drunk relatives to slip quietly out the doors and catch her breath.

Leaning against the cool stone wall, Emma took a breath, and another. The endless noise now softened, the shadows soothing, she could finally allow her heartbeat to slow. It was done. The hard part was over, and the worst part was beginning. But as long as she could get through the next few hours, she'd have a night at peace. It was that she focused on.

"There you are," Emma spun around. Regina was standing in the doorway, looking a shade less uncomfortable than her. It had been more than a month since her last visit. Her whole being seemed to sigh in relief. "I've been trying to find you all night." They moved together into the shadows, as they were so used to doing now. "Someone's popular tonight."

"Don't." Emma sighed, faint smile falling into place. She glanced around the empty hallway quickly, before sliding her hand into dark hair and pulling her close.

" _Emma!_ " Regina protested, but she was smiling widely and her eyes were sparkling. Her lips were but an inch away.

"There's no one around," Emma assured her, voice low. She waited for Regina's eyes to flicker up and meet hers, to catch that tiny nod of consent before closing the distance with her heartbeat tangled up around her ribs. Her lips fit hers perfectly, soft and pliant. Something heavy and warm stirred in her stomach. Kissing Regina was easier than anything else now, familiar and natural. Kissing Regina was like coming home. When they parted, they remained in the shadows, so close Emma could feel the warmth of her breath, hear her breathing. "Missed you."

"You too." Regina replied softly. In the darkness, her eyes seemed suddenly so bright.

Emma swallowed, clearing her throat. "Are you... Coming to my chambers, tonight?"

The words hung heavily in the air between them for a few minutes Regina's eyes searching hers. She sighed. "I would, really, Emma but..." She shifted, mouth tightening a little. "Mother's already said she wants a word with me after the celebration and I know she'll keep tabs on me."

"Of course," Emma nodded gravely. It was the unspoken law between them, that however careful they were to stay secret, they had to be _more_ careful and _more_ secret where Lady Cora was concerned. She turned a strand of Regina's hair between hers fingers. She couldn't help the worry edging into her stomach. "Do you know what it's about?"

Regina shook her head slightly. "Doesn't matter. I don't think it's important." She looked up at her with eyes fully of second-hand worry. "How are you?"

"Not great." Emma admitted. There wasn't a moment the thought of lying crossed her mind. They'd come too far; it had been too long to break her promise now. After all, if she didn't talk her poison out to somebody it would kill her, and Regina always seemed like an antidote anyway. "This whole thing is just too much."

Regina's brows furrowed. She met Emma's stare resolutely, and when she spoke her voice was set and honest. "I know you don't think you're a hero." Something shifted in her eyes. "But I do. And I'm here."

 _You won't be forever,_ Emma thought bleakly, and how the night proved her right.

-0-

"Mother?" Regina called tentatively, tapping her knuckles against the door once more. The castle had fallen into darkness as the endless orchestra of celebration dwindled down to silence. The world was sleeping, and she wished she was too. She closed her fingers around the doorknob and pushed it open. Inside, the candlelight was soft as a whisper, climbing the walls in a blur of auburn and gold.

Lady Cora was seated at the table, sipping from a glass of wine with a glint in her eyes that cut straight into Regina's stomach. Daddy was nowhere to be seen. She slipped inside and closed the door gently behind her. The silence was thick, absolute. "You wanted to speak with me?" Regina tried. Her voice sounded small and inconsequential in the air.

Slowly, her mother placed the glass down and turned to look at her. Regina's insides tightened, muscles tensing. She looked far too smug for her liking. "Yes, dear." Her smile was real, unmovable, wide and white and Regina was trying not to shiver. She rose abruptly from the table, her eyes were shining furiously. She fell upon Regina then, seizing her by the arms so she had to look at her. "You see, despite your _mistakes_ , my hard work has finally paid off."

Regina frowned. "I don't understand –"

"King George wrote me shortly after your grandfather's ball." She beamed, almost manic with joy. Regina felt sick. "You remember him, don't you? You were still in your silly pining daze, but it didn't matter." The world was beginning to swim. Lines blurred, but Mother was still sharp edges and flashing pride. She was going to black out. Her heart was shaking and sweating. She was going to black out, she knew it.

"No," Regina heard her voice say, from somewhere far away.

"Yes, darling," Cora leaned in close to deliver the death blow. "You're going to be queen."


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N ~** ENTER RUMPLESTILTSKIN. This chapter is Say Something af by the way, fair warning.

 **8.**

"He proposed." The tears gathered thickly behind her eyes, the seething, searing mass of rage and hatred boiling in her blood stung. Her voice sounded small and hard and she hated it. "He proposed and she said yes." Behind the blue silk drapes, the misty window dripped with rain. "I'm going to Ironhaven in a matter of weeks, Emma, I –"

"You're not. You are _not._ " Emma repeated harshly, as if she could make it true. Regina stood by the wall of the guest bedchambers, hands curled tightly into fists, jaw clenched hard enough to stop her from crying or killing something, watching Emma disintegrate. She could see other princess breaking. The sharp edge in her sea-green eyes was hard as stone, but behind it she could see the raw terror, and panic, and anguish. And there was fury there too, Regina knew all too well. Her heart felt cold and heavy, lead in her chest as she watched. "I just – No. Just fucking – no." Emma's knuckles were white. Suddenly, she rounded, kicking the wardrobe so fiercely the wood splintered and gave way. Regina flinched.

And then Emma turned around, eyebrows set, coming closer. The grey light of the window fell across her face. She shook her head. "No." Regina shivered: the air had changed. It was more acute now, sparkling with a new tension. Charged. As if something was about to happen. Emma's gaze met hers with such force that Regina felt it in her bones. There was still turmoil in her eyes but something else now too. _Determination._ She shook her head again. "No. We're going to find a way out of this."

"Emma," Regina warned. "I don't want you getting –"

"Marry me." Emma told her suddenly.

Her heart leapt anxiously, red and alive again. Regina frowned, breath caught in her throat. "What?"

"Marry me." Emma repeated. She spoke very quickly and certainly, eyes firmly trained on Regina's. "You can't marry anyone if you're already married. I'm heir to Callendor, my country is rich as his and just as influential. If I demand your hand first who's gonna deny me?" Her lips parted, breathless, eyes searching. The light hit her from behind, turning her loose blonde hair to a halo.

Regina's mouth tightened with her chest. She shook her head. "You can't, it's too dangerous." She paused. "If we were married in secret she'd kill you and send me to Ironhaven, and if we were married publically... She'd kill you anyway and take the throne for herself. I'm not going let that happen."

"And I'm not going to let _this_ happen! _Regina_ ," Emma sighed. "We'll run away. Just the two of us, we'll take our horses and supplies and enough gold to last us a lifetime and we'll run away. We can find that cottage in Arendelle and never look back," Emma's hands closed around hers, warm and rough and familiar, and drew them close to her. "'Gina."

Regina sighed painfully, forcing herself to meet her eye. "No, Emma. I wish that I could, more than you know, but you have a family and friends who love you, you have a life waiting for you here. I can't take you away from that. I can't be so selfish."

"Then _what_?" Emma shouted, tearing one of her hands away. There were tears gathering in her eyes, shining accusingly. Her voice softened. "Then what?"

Regina gazed down at where Emma's hands entwined with her own. Warm, solid hands, palms toughened by the practise yard. She had rarely let those hands go since she was five years old. She swallowed. She spoke slowly and carefully, as she had in her mind a thousand times. "I'll go by myself. Change my name. Find a village and make a life for myself –"

"Don't leave me," Emma's voice was hoarse, smaller than she'd ever heard it. "Don't."

"I wish I didn't have to." Regina told her, grip loosening. "But I won't ruin my life and I'm not going to ruin yours."

"I don't care about my life!" Emma shouted, tightening her fingers harshly around Regina's. "What I care about if whether or not you're gonna be okay. My life..." Green eyes searched brown. In a second, Emma had pulled her close, pressed her mouth fiercely to hers. She moved desperately, she kissed like a woman starving, and when at last she pulled away, she had stolen all the breath from Regina's lungs. She stared, unflinchingly. "My life is you."

"Well, it can't be!" Regina could hear her own voice rising now, with the thudding in her chest. "You have to start living your life for yourself now! Or else all of this, everything that's happened for the last thirteen years will have been for nothing!"

Emma shook her head. "What the hell are we doing?" She murmured. "There has to be something. Some spell in one of your mother's books we could –"

Regina's heart stopped for a moment. The thought flashed into her mind immediately at the suggestion. She vowed she'd never use magic, never be like Mother and yet... Just this once. It couldn't be so hard. She'd find the book while her mother was busy, she took it everywhere. It was dangerous, of course, but what did she have to loose anymore? Emma was staring at her. She knew. "I might have something." Regina told her. Emma nodded eagerly. She took a breath. "It's risky."

"What?" Emma pressed.

"There's a man who makes deals." She hesitated. "Well, not a man, really. He taught my mother magic, years ago. He's powerful. Smart."

Emma stared cautiously. "Who is it?"

"The Dark One." Regina cleared her throat. "It's the Dark One."

Neither of them mentioned that if they failed, they might be on opposite sides of a war within a year.

-0-

"Are you sure you want to be here, when –"

"Of course I am." Emma snapped, drumming her fingers anxiously on the arms of her chair. Her heart felt tight and itchy in her heavy chest. Honestly, she just wanted to get it over with. If it worked, and the Dark One helped them, then she could stop feeling like she wanted to hack the world to pieces. And if not, well, then they could get back to plotting other ways to escape. That was the only thing that mattered now. "How long is this gonna take?"

"I don't know." Regina told her, paging hastily through her mother's spell book and frowning deeply. Emma could see how uncomfortable she was with this. Could see how brave she was for pushing through it. "Ah." She stopped, finger holding the page down. "Here."

Emma rose quickly from the chair, crossing the room to stand beside the other princess and stare over her shoulder at the book, breath drawn. Regina radiated warmth and worry. Emma placed a hand lightly on the small of her back. They'd locked themselves in one of the empty guest chambers the White Palace was full of. Cora was in some secret meeting with one of the envoys. Regina assured her she'd be gone long enough for them to get it done and then return the tome. This had to work. This had to work, or they'd need to run away to have enough time to come up with something. Regina departed tomorrow.

"So that's it?" Emma frowned at the page, and drew the sword from the scabbard at her hip. She hoped she wouldn't need it, but they had to be prepared. "We just say his name?"

Regina nodded. "Maybe you should step back."

Emma snorted, not moving a muscle save for the thumb still stroking useless, soothing patterns across the brunette's back. She cleared her throat. "Are you gonna say it or me?"

"It should be me." Regina decided. Emma let her gaze wander slowly back across to her face, grimly focused. They were breathing in tandem. "Rumper – Rumpleshtiltskin I summon thee." Her words hung in the air for a moment. Regina turned to look at Emma, wide dark eyes shining with questions. The silence had never been so loud as they waited. _Nothing_. Emma's heart sank through her insides like a stone through water. He had not come.

"That's not how you say it, dearie."

Emma and Regina whipped around in unison, staring at the source of the chiding voice, heavy and gleeful. Emma's heart skipped a beat. The Dark One was standing in the middle of the room. Scaled and sparkling as the stories said, clad in leather, eyes like nothing human. She should probably say something, but she faltered. It didn't matter. He strode toward them, purposeful steps. Though he was shorter than her – shorter even than Regina – he had the kind of presence that could dwarf giants. He smirked, dipping into a mock-bow. "Rumplestiltskin, Dark On, crocodile, harbourer of all evil, soulless beast etcetera etcetera, at your service."

Emma and Regina exchanged an uncertain glance. He rose, advancing slower and more seriously. Without a word, he took Regina's hand between his own, staring with something she couldn't name in his eyes. Emma narrowed her gaze, bristling. "Regina Mills." He smiled meaningfully. "How lovely to be _reunited_ after all this time."

Regina stared uncertainly at him. "We've never met."

"Haven't we?" The Dark One cocked his head. "You see, dearie, you and I are – fated, shall we say, to be together since before you were born. I have to say... You're earlier than I expected." He stepped closer, suddenly, hands still gripping hers.

"Careful." Emma snapped, levelling her sword at him.

He spun to face her with a look of intrigue, as if he had only just noticed her. Rumplestiltskin's large, manic eyes lingered on her, something dark glinting deep inside. He looked at her in a way that made her feel like he was looking beyond her skin and bones right into her soul. Which was unnerving, to say the least. "Easy, now." He released his grasp on Regina's hands, but Emma kept her grip on the pommel of the sword. "And who might you be?"

"Emma Swan," She told him, voice hard. "Of Callendor. Take one more step and I end you."

He giggled, a high, unsettling noise that made her bones shiver. "Oh, it'll take a bit more than that to put an end to me, dearie. I could _pick my teeth_ with your little blade."

"We'd like your help." Regina cut in, dark eyes trained warily on him. "We heard you make deals."

"You heard right, dearie, but whether I'll make one with _you_ is another matter." He flashed a smile, stepping away from them. His tone darkened like a storm cloud. He glanced between them. "What do you want?"

"Freedom." Regina breathed. Emma watched carefully as she raised her spine, staring the Dark One in the eye. "Please. I'm to be married shortly, but I have no love for the man and I don't want his power. I just want a way out."

Rumplestiltskin didn't seem surprised at all. In fact, Emma thought it looked almost as if he'd expected it. He rounded on her suddenly, eyes darting from the sword she still held in her grasp to her face. Her stomach tensed. "What about you? That's her problem, not yours. So tell me, what do you want, Emma Swan?"

Her mouth went dry. _I want freedom for myself. Peace between my country and Ironhaven. Happiness. I want to avoid ruling this country, or be good enough to not have to worry. But most of all..._ She swallowed. "I want her freedom, too."

"How... sweet." He smiled distastefully. "But I'm afraid I can't help you."

"What?" Regina's voice was not broken so much as breaking.

Emma stared at her. The desperation shining in her eyes was painful. Fury surged through her blood, spilled out into her bones. She thrust the sword forward again. "That's not good enough!" Her voice was loud and rough in her ears.

"Ooh, _testy_ ," The Dark One danced back, unfazed. He looked almost... amused. Like this was funny to him. It took everything in her not to run him through, or at least punch that stupid _fucking_ smile off his face. "What I mean to say is, I can't help _you_ _now._ I will be seeing you again." He turned to Emma then, to add, "Not you."

"So you're just going to leave us? Leave her like this?" Emma pressed, incredulous. Her heart was pounding furiously against her ribcage, anger mounting with every second. How _dare_ he?

Regina shot her a pained look. "Emma, don't."

"No, Regina. That's crap! That's _crap._ " She tightened her fist around the pommel until she could feel the cracks in the tough leather biting into her skin. "You say you have some kind of destiny with her but you don't care if her life is destroyed? Bullshit. You're supposed to make deals and help people, you _have_ to!"

"Sadly, dearie, you are mistaken." Rumplestiltskin informed her. "Helping people isn't exactly in the _Dark One_ 's job description."

And then he was gone, and Emma was left stabbing at the air.

-0-

When Regina awoke for the first time, the world was warm and soft and her heart beat steadily. Sunlight filtered dimly through the thin bed drapes, comforting. She was tucked into Emma's chest, and the other girl's pulse beat against her skin. Emma's hair had tangled with hers, legs and feet and breath entwined. She let herself fall back into sleep.

The second time she awoke, Regina reached across the canvas seeking Emma's warmth, but found only the cold empty side of the bed. She scrambled upright, covers tangled around her legs, blinking in the light. Emma was sitting on the end of the bed, arm wrapped loosely around her knees, like a soldier at watch. Her other hand kept going to the pommel of the sword already strapped to her hip. The light of the rising sun sprayed fingers of pale gold through the window, setting the blonde hair unbound down her back alight, sharpening her silhouette. Regina didn't say anything. Today, she would leave. Perhaps for good. She wouldn't stop fighting. With her last breath, she would keep trying and she knew Emma would, too. But there was still a chance.

"This isn't over, 'Gina." Emma told her quietly, perfectly still.

Regina blinked, and swallowed the lump of pain building in her throat. "I know." She nodded. "I know."

Emma twisted around to face her then, with sunlight caught in her eyes. "As long as I'm living, this isn't over."

And Regina almost smiled then, because she'd promised not to lie.

The raven reached the Mills' estate in Xalvadarr the day after Regina did. She was in her bedchambers when it landed, claws scrabbling on stone windowsill. Somehow, it was absolutely silent, as if it knew. Her heart leapt at the sight of the parchment rolled and tied to his foot. She knew before she even opened it who it was from. She unfurled the page with baited breath, heart racing at the sight of Emma's familiar untidy scrawl. As her eyes sped across the writing, Regina dared to hope.

 _Gina,_

 _I've heard of a woods witch. Supposedly, she can read fortunes and change them._

 _She lives not two leagues from the Xalvadarr-Callendor border. I know the way. And I know your mother is meeting with George's men at the Mightfort soon to discuss the treaty that will precede the wedding. Which means she'll be gone long enough for us to go. The timing is perfect._

 _Meet me at start of the borderland forest on the full moon. I'll be there. No matter what, I'll be there._

 _Emma_


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N ~** If you're getting tired of young Swan Queen, trust me, by chapter 14, they'll be grown up and more like the Emma and Regina we know and love. I'm so looking forward to this

 **9**.

The plains unfurled in all directions, pale and green in the white light of dawn. A thin mist clung to the hills in the distance, caught up around the far off treetops, black branches slicing at the faded sky. Around her, the air was thick and cold, but Rocinante was warm beneath her, and the thick woollen cloak she wore over her brown riding leathers kept her warm. Around the reins, her fingers were turning red and stiff. Regina had been riding for a night and a day.  
She had left scared, and hoping. She'd told Daddy as much pf the truth as she could. "I'm going to change things," She'd said, "I'll be back before Mother." Slowly, as she'd made her way across her land, the stinging bite of the wind against her skin, through her hair, her horse's heart beating in time with hers, the sunlight and air and the trees and the world had brought her back to life. The fear was gone; all that was left was determination. It made her bones feel like steel.

The sun was well up by the time Regina glimpsed the boughs of the borderland forest. She breathed sharply in the light, heart racing furiously as she drew on in. Beside the trees, she could make out a figure, and a horse, dappled grey. A smile crept across her face. Rocinante's hooves tore at the soft earth, thunderous, until she finally could see the sun reflected in Emma's eyes, and the cold mist of her breath hanging in front of her. As soon as he had slowed, Regina clambered hastily to drop down, boots sinking into the dirt. She knew he would stay. And then she ran. She broke into a run at the same time as Emma, who caught her tight, wrapping her in a hug. She relaxed into her, allowing herself to take a moment's peace, a brief rest that smelled like cinnamon and leather.

Regina could hear the sigh of relief in her ears, though whether it was hers of Emma's she didn't know.

It lasted only a moment, before Regina pulled back to stare for a second, and then lean in to crash her lips against Emma's. It was clumsy, and messy, and almost frantic, and she could feel Emma's hand against her face. Her heart was wild. Emma's lips moved softly against hers, hot and right. Everywhere they touched radiated warmth, filling her up from the inside out. Regina pulled away before she could lose herself too completely in it. "Are we ready?"

Emma's eyes were set. "You tell me."

Regina breathed in sharply and nodded. "Let's go." She turned to take Rocinante's reins in her hand, shouldering into the woods, where the trees were too dense for them to ride. She could hear Emma and Feather's footsteps and breathing following her, head bowed against the cold and the rustling leaves.  
They walked in comfortable quiet through the towering yews, breath mingling silver in the frigid air. The winter sun cast green-tinged shadows dancing on the pine carpet and her skin; spears of sunlight pierced the canopy to fall in a myriad of soft patches on the ground, that spun over Emma's hair, and the horse's coats. The rich air hung heavy with the smell of soil and wood. It was peaceful there. With only the call of birds, and the whispering leaves, and the comforting rhythm of the horses' hooves, the rest all vanished. For a moment, it was another world, where her only worry was the threat of rain. Population; Regina and Emma. Of course, that was only for a moment, before the pain and the fear and the fury and the unwillingness to bend rushed back in. But it was a good moment. She could breathe easier out here.

"D'you ever think about when we were kids?" Emma asked softly. Regina turned. She was trudging across the ground, leading Feather behind her, staring at the distant horizon. The pale sun struck her hair and lit it up. "And we used to think about what it'd be like, when we were older. Like it was all just some big game, and we could come up with the parts that we wanted to play."

Regina stared at her. She blinked, glancing down at the ground as she lead Rocinante over a twisting jut of root. She nodded. "All the time."  
A faint smile crossed Emma's face. "I was gonna be a knight." She sighed lightly. "Go on quests. You know, I always just assumed you'd come with me. And we could have adventures together." She paused. "This wasn't exactly what I had in mind."

 _I did_ , Regina almost told her. _I always knew I'd be queen and I'd hate it and I'd never be free, because I never was._ But she didn't say anything. That was too insufferable, even for her. She watched Emma smile again, opening her mouth. "That's what I told them I was doing."

"What?" Regina twisted the horse's reins tighter about her wrist.

"Going on a quest." A small snort of laughter cracked the air. "My parents. I told them I was going on a coming-of-age quest for honour and glory." Emma looked over at her to explain, "A lot of the boys from training do it before they get knighted. They say it's to prove themselves, but really it's just to stoke their egos and have something true to brag about when they wanna get girls into bed."

Regina smiled slightly. "Well," She said softly, looking sideways at her. "You never needed to brag."

Emma's smile flashed. "No." Her face grew serious once again, eyes finding the floor in front of her. "I didn't." She hesitated, and Regina could see the question burning behind her eyes, her lips. It took Emma a few moments to brave voicing it. "Do you ever regret it?" She swallowed. "All those times we..."  
The words hung in the air like soap bubbles.

Regina stared solidly at the air in front of her as she walked. "No."

"I worry sometimes." Emma confessed anxiously, breath heavy, free hand rubbing the back of her neck. "For both of us."

"I know." Regina told her, fighting to keep her voice strong. "And I understand. But I've never felt that way. Maybe I should, but... It just seemed right. They say we have to be faithful to husbands we've never met but I could never want to be with somebody that I don't know or love." She stopped walking, holding Rocinante's reins lightly, and making herself look Emma in the eye. "But someone that I do know, understand, trust. Someone who knows and understands and trusts me right back. Someone who makes me feel safe, and whole and right – how could that be wrong?" She flickered her gaze to the ground and back. "How could you be wrong, Emma?"

"I know that, I felt all that too, it's just..." She stared, and the pain in her eyes made Regina hurt too. "If something happened because we... Because I –"

"Well, nothing has." Regina told her sharply. She didn't want to talk about this anymore. It had been perfect, their perfect, untouchable memories that nobody could ever take from them. She wouldn't let Emma take it from herself. "And nothing will, not because of that." She lowered her eyes to the ground again. "We need to keep moving."

-0-

There was so much Emma almost said as they carved their path through the city of trees and so much she wished she hadn't. But she wasn't five anymore; words weren't gods to create or destroy. They were just words. And she didn't need them now.

Dusk fell quietly, descending like a bruise on the bile-coloured sky. The shadows darkened and lengthened and the light turned to fire above the trees, before it slipped away to nothing. They made their two-person camp quickly and effectively in the dying light. Emma managed to strike up a fire on her second attempt, which was her personal best. And she tied Feather beside Rocinante, and sat on her bedroll and watched Regina watch the flames, wondering how it all went so wrong. She'd assembled a kind of spit out of sticks, so she could heat the bread and cheese she'd brought over the fire, and Emma turned it carefully. The warmth of the fire thawed her hands, and the warmth of Regina's gaze thawed her.

Under the cloak of night, the woods had fallen silent, until a new orchestra took up the tune. Crickets chiming, trees rustling, flames crackling and spitting glowing sparks. It was like she was on one of her scouts, except her scouts were always coloured by the way she missed Regina. That's when it hit her – she _did_ miss Regina. She missed Regina already. Emma pulled the bread from the fire, tossed it across the flames. Regina caught it from the air.  
"I meant it, you know." Emma heard her voice say, before her mind had caught up with what she was doing.

Regina frowned at her through the flames. "What?"

"Everything."

The fire cracked and shifted, glowing against the darkness. Auburn light washed over Regina's features, softening; it made the shadows of her eyelashes dance against her cheekbones. She was staring at her, with that look in her brown eyes that was everything and nothing all at once: the storm and the calm inside it. That said she knew everything. That look that hit Emma right in her chest. With the flames waltzing yellow and scarlet and orange over her skin, she was reminded of the first day, when the sunlight struck the painted window, and given her the prismatic aura of a fairy, or an angel. She opened her mouth and almost said something. Her whole life might have been different if she had, but she didn't.  
Later, when they were lying side by side beneath the stars, Emma said something entirely different. "Maybe we just shouldn't go back."

Regina looked over at her. "If the witch can't help us?"

"If she can." Emma heard her words hover and settle like dust all around them. Regina turned her head to stare at her. It was like by saying the words she'd scratched some itch and dislodged all this congealed honesty. "You don't want to marry a king but you know even if we escape this one your mother will never stop until she wins. I don't – I can't be a leader, 'Gina, I just can't do it. I'm not a hero, or a saviour, or a queen and I don't think either of us will ever be really _happy_ there. It just seems like we're out here, the two of us, we're already gone so why not stay gone? We're here, we've done it, we're free." Emma scrambled to sit up back on her elbows, desperately catching Regina's soft, wary gaze and refusing to let go. "It can be like we always talked about. We'll find a village, and I'll find a job that suits me, and we can be happy. Nobody to tell us what to do, nobody to expect things from us or hit us or use us or make us do anything we don't want to do just because it's tradition! We wouldn't have to worry about..." She watched Regina sit up across from her. She took a deep breath and tried to be brave. " _Being together_. It wouldn't be scary anymore." She swallowed. "We could have a life, 'Gina."  
When she looked into Regina's eyes she found tears shining there.

Emma breathed slowly, watching intently. Regina's eyes were wide, blasted with some emotion she was sure she'd felt at some point in the last five minutes, too, lips parted, unmoving. After a very long time, she began to speak. "You just described everything I've ever wanted." She hesitated for a moment. Emma knew what was coming next perhaps even before she did. "But I can't have it." She took a breath before plunging on. "It would be so easy for me to agree. I could just say yes, and we'd be gone and nobody in the castles would ever hear from us again. But do you have any idea how selfish that would make me?" She leaned forward, eyes intently focused on Emma. "I know what you think, but queen or not you are a –" She paused, searching. "You're a remarkable woman. And the way you think and fight would be an asset to any kingdom. I know that someday, you'll change things for the better. Even if you don't realize it at first. To rob the world of that?" Regina took a breath. "That would be selfish."

Emma stared.

Something stirred deep in her chest. _You gotta promise. You gotta swear not to lie to me_. And god, with the ocean in her veins, did she feel stupid then. She swallowed. "You... You really believe that?"

"Of course I do." Regina broke into a soft, sad, incredulous smile. "I always did."

The words were on the tip of her tongue then, so close to spilling out. It took everything in her to hold them back, and Emma wasn't even sure why. She felt a smile ghost over her. "Thank you." She tried to shake off her lingering thoughts. "I'm gonna keep watch. You get some sleep, okay?"

"Okay," Regina met her eyes once more before settling back down, curling in towards the flames. Her eyes closed, breath slowed. Emma looked over at her, small smile curling at her mouth despite everything. Here was a little girl who had to learn how to diffuse dangerous situations before she could count. Growing up with Cora Mills wasn't easy, Emma had seen it happen. Regina might have been starved for affection or affirmation and maybe she'd carry the marks with her all her life but it had also made her aware. She was keenly attuned to people's responses and though she wanted to trust people Emma knew she seriously considered it before she did. And here she was, blindly putting her life in Emma's hands.

It was one responsibility she could handle.

When at last the sun pushed up above the horizon, there was a difference in the air. A sense of finality, of settlement. Emma knew something was going to end today (her childhood, her worries, her hopes, her fears – something was finishing. She just didn't know what). She rose quickly in the cold, stamping out the ashes of their fire and packing away her bedroll hastily. They made a breakfast of the apples Regina had found growing nearby. They didn't talk much, but they didn't need to. Sometimes silence said more.

They walked through the greenery for little more than an hour before they found the cabin. Nestled between a grove of shrubs, hewn of dark, splintery wood free of paint or ornament. There was a small golden bell hanging from the door, liver-spotted with rust. _Talk about stereotypes_ , Emma thought scathingly, but she wasn't going to say anything. This woman might be their last chance. She reached for the bell.

Regina turned to her sharply, holding out a hand to stop her ringing. She turned her full dark gaze up to her. "Wait." She stared, speaking cautiously. "If this is the last –"

"Don't." Emma told her.

She didn't. She leaned in swiftly instead, to lay her lips against hers. It was like the first time; both of them still and close and that feeling wrenching through Emma's gut, that riptide in her veins. Regina's hands were warm on the back of her neck. Her lips tasted of apples and home. Emma's heart was aching, aching because damn, she felt too much for this woman. Too much, it was breaking her heart already.  
She pulled back, adrenaline buzzing, and reached for the bell. This time, Regina didn't stop her.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N ~** I'm not even sorry. Well, I mean, I am but if you hold on it will all be worth it

 **10.**

The door groaned on its hinges when Emma pushed it forward, fingers resting tentatively on the pommel of the sword at her hip. Regina held her breath, gaze wandering cautiously as she followed her inside, steps measured and careful on the wooden floor. Inside, the cabin was dimly lit, stiff curtains drawn over the windows, and the rectangle of light falling from the doorway illuminated the dust motes swirling in the air. It smelled of mead and moth balls. Crumbling books cluttered shelves, tiny phials and jars of strange substances. Regina didn't want to know what they were. The wooden floorboards protested at her every step.

"Close the door, my dears." From the shadows across the room, a rough voice called to them, unsurprised as if she had expected them. It made Regina uncomfortable, but she steeled herself and turned to do as she bid. In closing, the door was quiet, and the room was dark as ever.

Candles burned on low stubs of wax in glass jars balanced precariously around the room –with all the paper and wood about, Regina didn't think that was wise. Her eyes soon adjusted to the muddy orange light that flickered across every surface. Emma shot her a glance. Regina nodded, and cleared her throat. "May we speak with you?"

An unimpressed grunt answered. "What do you want?"

"We heard you can change peoples fates." Emma said, as she stepped forward slowly. Regina could see her fingers still ghosted warily over the grip of her sword.

"Bah." The voice replied, gruffly. "Well, I'll have to read your fortune first and that'll cost you. All magic comes with a price, you know, even humble magic such as mine. In fact, I think I'll charge you extra for barging in without an appointment. It's just bad manners. I'm sick to death of you youngsters and your problems. _Make him love me. Make me brave. Make me rich_ – well, you don't know problems. None of you. And when next war comes, you'll all die like flies." Regina and Emma exchanged a look. "Well, come closer then. Let's have a look at you."

They stepped closer as one, hands seeking each others' warmth in the shadows and holding tight, like when they were tiny. Emma's familiar, calloused skin was sobering. Regina studied the woman in the chair in the corner, absorbed the hard, tired eyes, the frayed shawl, the wiry hair. She was every bit the storybook witch, Regina thought, but whether or not their story was a happy one or a tragedy she wasn't sure yet. Emma shot Regina a sideways glance before clearing her throat and speaking, wrapping her fingers tighter around Regina's. "We'd appreciate your help."

Regina nodded, squeezing her hand reassuringly. "Yes. You see, I'm to be married soon, to a rich and powerful man that I don't love. I don't even know him, honestly, and –"

"Hold on, alright, alright," The woman grumbled, sitting more upright in her chair. "So eager. I'm old. I've got pains, you know." She settled, eyes running over the two of them. Regina saw her gaze linger a little on their entwined fingers. She steeled herself, gaze flickering defensively. She sighed heavily, as if saddened. "Well, give me your hand, girl, and I'll find out what I need to know before I can do anything."

Regina looked from Emma to the woman, confused. "Why do you need my..."

"Blood, girl." She snapped impatiently, holding out her own hand with expectance. "Just a prick and it'll tell me everything."

"No." Emma interrupted suddenly. Regina turned to stare at her, but her gaze was set firmly on the supposed witch. She was breathing heavily. "You can have my blood instead."

A low chuckle rose from the woman before Regina could object. It was a bizarre sound, rough and rasping, like stone on stone. "Oh, that's very sweet, dear, really, but it's her marriage, so it must be hers." Her eyes darted from Emma to Regina. "Of course, if it's your future together you're asking me to fix then I'll need yours as well."

"Yeah, we want that." Emma nodded.

"Okay." Regina conceded cautiously, and then extended her hand. "Mine first."

She could feel Emma's gaze on her as she watched the woman draw a long, thin needle from some pocket in her blanket. The woman took her fingers lightly in her own, touch cold and rough. She winced slightly as the needle pressed into her skin and then broke it, watched the bead of scarlet well to the surface. The witch reached for an empty phial, holding it against her skin and turning her finger so the blood dripped into it, three drops. She dropped Regina's hand, and reached towards Emma. "You next dear, if you're still so intent on your foolish devotion."

Emma fixed her with a killing stare, holding out her hand. Regina watched with baited breath; this woman looked irritated, but when she drew the needle and pressed it to Emma's fingertip it was no different to what she'd done to hers. Regina winced as if it had pierced her skin again. She twisted Emma's finger to drip the blood into the same phial as Regina's. She stared with fascinated horror as the woman tilted the phial to her lips. And then she drew in a sharp breath, and her eyes clouded over and Regina frowned intently, because she knew she was seeing their future. She gripped Emma's hand like a lifeline.

After a long time, the witch gasped like she was coming up for air from the ocean. Regina looked to Emma, anxious. She swore her heart stopped beating for a moment. Did she really want to know? Yes, yes she did. Whatever she knew now didn't matter because she was going to _change it._ She was going to fix everything. Regina forced herself to speak. "Well?"

"There is a shadow, girl. There are many shadows." Her voice had harnessed a harsh, deep quality, something far beyond the tired old woman's gruff tone. It crawled across Regina's skin, unnerving and cold, slithered beneath it to lay against her bones. Her stomach tightened. She stared. "But I see the sun. Yes, the son will rise. The crimes of the miller's daughter will not end with her, actions stain like the bruises. Lose yourself in the tides of time but never heal. Two queens you shall be, different in method but equal in greatness. You will find light in the shadow of death. Waves, angry in the moonlight. Two weddings. Death under the stars –" She stopped abruptly, blinking several times. She cleared her throat: it seemed she had woken from her trance.

Regina glanced sideways at Emma, breath heavy in her lungs. The other princess was watching the woman cautiously, angrily. "Is that it? What does that even mean?"

The woman chuckled gruffly. "You tell me. Now, I've felt your fortune. You'll have to pay well to know what to do about it."

"We can pay whatever you want." Regina assured her. "Both our families have plenty of gold."

"You think I want gold, stupid girl, for a way to alter your fate? Bah." The woman grumbled. "It'll be something _meaningful_ , thank you very much. I'll want a lock of hair from you both, and the first words you ever spoke to each other."

Emma shot Regina a wary glance, before turning back to the woman. The air was very heavy, thick with anticipation and magic. "And that's all?" Emma pressed. "That's your price? We pay you that, and then you'll help us?"

The old woman opened her mouth, but she spoke no more. The crossbow bolt protruding from her chest saw to that.

For a moment, it was as if time was frozen. An infinite second where Regina wasn't aware of the clangour of the door being thrown open, the thunder of heavy boots over the groaning wood floor, the blinding white light stabbing in from the open doorway. She was just standing, staring as the witch choked, dark stain spreading out across her blanket, eyes flashing, until they flashed no more. Then time woke up; and Regina spun in horror. The men were pouring in, at least a dozen of them, dazzling light glinting sharply off their mail.

In her thoughtless panic she'd jumped in front of Emma, and in the same second Emma's hand grabbed her shoulder, pushing her roughly behind her. Her sword was drawn. It flashed in the light. Regina stared, mind blank with white panic. The men, the dead woman in the corner, she was going to help them and now there was nowhere to run and it was two against so many, and her heart was pounding and _why, why?_

The pieces of the picture didn't fit together until the soldiers parted for Mother.

She stepped into the doorway with a small cold smile plastered on her face. The hem of her gown skimmed the dusty floor. Around, the soldiers had become still, attentive. Ready for command. Emma was beside her now, blade drawn defensively, face contorted with shock and fear and anger. Dust motes swirled slowly in the light. The old woman's blood was dripping on the floor, a steady rhythm. Regina's heart had frozen over, motionless, somewhere in the bottom of her stomach. "Mother," She heard her own voice saying, very thin and far away.

"Come, Regina. It's time to go home." She said, tone harsh and brittle. "Let's stop all this silliness, hmm?"

Regina didn't quite realize what she was doing until she said it. "No." And then, firmer. " _No_."

Cora's mouth tightened in annoyance. "I didn't want to do it this way." She stepped back slowly, out into the world, waving one hand airily. "But so be it. Seize my daughter." Her eyes hardened. "And do what you must to keep the other one from interfering."

Everything leapt to life.

Emma lunged forward, sword swinging up to meet the first lunge with a deafening clang. Regina threw herself further into the dead woman's room, grabbing at anything she could find and weaponize. The phials and jars did nothing though, witch's brews or not, shattered pointlessly against armour. There were three of them fighting Emma now, swords slashing and biting. She was holding them off, roaring and grunting, but there were dark stains blossoming all over clothes. Regina was shouting, she didn't know what, the words didn't matter, only the resistance. Gloved hands were closing around her mouth, her wrists, her stomach, holding her back and Emma was flagging now, each block more sluggish than the last and there was nothing Regina could do about.

She twisted violently in the grasp of Mother's men, kicking, driving elbows and fists anywhere they could go. With a shout, Regina managed to wrench free long enough to scramble across the room and grab for anything, anything. Emma had stopped making so much noise. Steel crashed against steel, louder than her pulse. It didn't matter. There were pinning her wrists to her back and there were so many, she couldn't move and Mother was still smiling.

As they hauled her away, with tears gathering thickly behind her eyes, the last thing Regina glimpsed was Emma, sprawled across the dusty wooden floorboards, chest rising and falling raggedly, sweat-soaked hair falling in her face, and the blood blooming on her shirt. She would have sobbed, but the hand pressed to her mouth took the sound.

And rage was all there was.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N ~** Okay, so I am very truly sorry for this particular tragedy but I guarantee if you hold on to chapter fourteen, everything will be worth it. Also, I'm sure you'll everyone's favourite familiar face appearing at the end.

 **11.**

She woke blearily to yellow light and dust drifting in the air above her.

Immediately, she was confronted with blaring pain exploding through her shoulder and her side, a dull throbbing in her temples. She heard her sharp wince, hands immediately going to touch the searing hurts. Her mouth was very dry. _Think. Thoughts._ Emma breathed heavily, struggling to assemble the facts in her mind. She was lying on her back on a hard wooden floor. She was alone, if you didn't count the corpse slumped in the chair in the corner. A quick inventory showed she had a series of cuts along her arms, ugly yellowing bruises flowering on her legs and shoulders, a split lip, a nasty gash on her side, thick with congealed blood. There were dried streaks of the stuff in her tangled hair. _Facts, Emma. Think what you know._ She was in the witch's cabin. She'd been trying to help Regina. Regina was gone. She failed. Regina was gone. _Regina was gone._ She coughed violently on the dust.

Emma laid there for a long time, gathering her thoughts and quashing her pain, until she gagged on the thick, cloying smell of death in the corner and couldn't be still anymore. _Home._ The word surfaced in her mind. _Home, I need to get home._ She scrambled to sit up, aching palms catching on the splinters and the filmy dust. Her hands darted to her pockets, but they yielded nothing. She twisted, staring behind her on the floor. The smashed remains of her compass were scattered across the floor, amongst the dirty boot prints. A further look showed that the filthy rag, torn and muddy in the dust, had once been her map. They had taken her sword. Her whole body collapsed into a sigh.

When she found her feet, Emma ran outside. The tree they had tied Feather and Rocinante to was abandoned. Feather was gone, and with her all of Emma's food and water. "Damn," Emma heard herself snap, kicking the tree trunk hard. "Damn." The sound that tore from her throat as she drove her fist hard against the trunk was like nothing human. _Damn._ She breathed deeply, trying to push out the blinding pain that threatened to swallow her whole (not the pain in her muscle and skin; the other kind, the worse kind. The white hot kind that tore at her from inside out). If she gave in now she'd die here. She had to at least get home. She had to just not think until she got there.

So Emma walked. She found the direction she thought they'd come from, and she walked.

She stared down at the blood-spattered leather of her boots and concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. After a while, hard dirt turned to soft pine needles and leaves beneath her feet. Emma walked through the pain protesting in her shoulder and her hip and her side, and the invisible place inside her where her feelings lived. She walked because she'd forgotten how to stop. She wondered why they hadn't just killed her. Above the treetops, the sun shone brightly, washing warm, green-tinged shadows across her broken skin. Emma couldn't say that the walking healed her because she was as unhealable as the dead woman she'd left behind (or maybe she was the dead woman. She didn't know anymore).

She couldn't say how long she'd been out, but the russet stains on her shirt had dried like a pattern, like the flowers she wove into Regina's hair when they were eight and untouchable. Emma walked. Her chest was caving in, but she walked.

After a long time, the ditch beside her became a muddy trickle that became a stream. Crystalline waters twisted over a bed of pebbles like a silvery ribbon, playing a rushing tune that was so good it almost hurt. Emma fell to her knees in the mud, sighing heavily. She bent, cupping the freezing water in her fingers and lifting it to her mouth. It was so cold it hurt her throat, made her gasp and she knew it would make her stomach cramp but right now she'd take anything over her tongue feeling like old parchment for a second longer. It had to be some kind of miracle. A godsend. Emma followed the river for miles, until her feet began to blister, her skin began to crack under the abrasive sting of the chilled wind, and her stomach began to flash angrily with pangs of hunger.

It was kind of a harsh reality check, but the message was clear. She could play knight all she liked, but she was a princess born and raised. She'd never, not once, felt what it was like to be hungry. There were fish in the stream, but there was no way Emma could catch one without a spear or a net, and she couldn't gut it without a knife anyway. She'd seen berries, but none she recognized: she wasn't stupid.

She gritted her teeth and walked through the hunger, until night begun to descend, purple and grey and speckled with stars. Emma found some flint by the water, and after several attempts managed to strike up a fire, stoked with leaves, ringed with pebbles from the stream. She sat down beside it, a glowing orange jewel against the falling dark. The heat of it thawed her skin, and her mind.

Emma was still in the denser part of the woods, which meant she was still in the borderlands. Which meant this could be one of the streams off the Tigelaar river. If that was the case, then she could follow it back to people and hopefully get directions. Or a map. Emma drew her knees to her chest, curled her arms lightly around them and poked at the flames with a stick. The earth was hard under her, the branches cast swaying black shadows in the night. It was infinitely lonely, with just the sound of her own breathing for company. It suddenly felt as though she was the only person in the whole world.

She wondered what was happening at home, and if her family was worried. She wondered what Regina was doing, somewhere in the world. Probably sleeping. She wondered if she could sleep. She wondered if she was not-sleeping at home or in Ironhaven. She wondered if Cora was hurting her. The Regina thoughts were dangerous, they made her feel too much, so she tried to push them out. But it wasn't Emma's fault the image of her had been branded into the back of her eyelids. Sleeping was a stupid idea out here alone, so she watched the flames until her mind fell silent.

The next day, she drank deeply from the stream and splashed her face before rising with the sun. Emma walked once again. She walked for hours, hurting, hungry, tired enough that her mind was empty. After a few miles she caught sight of marks in the dirt, as if scored by a cart, so she stuck by that instead of the stream, which was dirtying and dwindling anyway. Eventually, the twin ruts in the ground deepened, became a road. Emma's heart quickened as she followed it, and slowly, houses rose up around her. Houses and people. _People_.

"Hey!" Emma's voice sounded rough and unfamiliar in her ears, like some wild thing. It tasted wrong. She ran, though her body screamed in protest, to the closest, a man holding his baby in the street. "Hey!" She skidded to a stop, breathless in front of him. "Where is this?"

He stared at her as if she were crazy. She could only imagine how she looked – hair bloodied, dirtied and tangled around her face, russet stains flowering her shirt, tired, alone. Certainly not like a princess. Not even like a person at all. "Sherrer." He told her, eyeing her warily.

"Where's the nearest holdfast?" Emma asked eagerly, adjusting to her voice. "What is it?"

"Elmar's?" He frowned begrudgingly. "Town's a mile or so north of here."

"Thank you." Emma nodded. "Thank you."

Even after she'd found a bakers disposing of yesterday's stale bread and kindly taken it off his hands, Emma didn't feel much better. There was a hollowness in her stomach that no food could fill. She lingered uncertainly in the road: the people and their lives were all surreal. They gave her cautious looks. She guessed that was why nobody protested when she hopped onto the first straw cart headed for the holdfast town.

She sat on the end of the cart, falling back amongst the straw as it rumbled away, jolting on every rock. She closed her eyes against the straw and remembered a time Regina was beside her.

-0-

Regina stared at the stars without seeing, knuckles whitening on the stone window sill.

Her breath misted on the glass, obscuring her reflection. _Good._ She already wanted to tear the skin off her bones piece by piece. She didn't want to have to look at it. It was wrapped too tightly around her, hot and crawling. She was stuck, sewn into the wrong life, trapped in her buzzing skull cage. Thoughts crashed around her mind, colliding and shattering and cutting her. Never had she wanted so desperately to just... stop. To just burn away to nothing. Her wedding dress was cutting into her. It was hideous, confining, dripping with jewels. Very Cora. Regina wanted nothing more than to rip it apart. Well, that wasn't true. There were a lot of things she wanted.

"You're missing your something blue, dearie."

Regina didn't move. She just stared at her knuckles blanching against the stone. "If you're not going to help me then go away."

"Oh, don't be like that." The Dark One chided. "I thought we were just starting to be _friends_!"

"I don't have friends." Regina reminded harshly, spinning on her heels to stare him down in the pale moonlight. The skirts of her gown tangled around her ankles. _Appropriate,_ she thought miserably. This would be her final fitting. By this time tomorrow, she would have signed her life away. She studied him cautiously, his grim smile, the moon's glow glinting off that unnatural skin, the shadow in his eyes. She was beginning to become more familiar with this Rumplestiltskin than she would have liked. When she spoke again, her voice was smaller. "Now please, just leave me alone."

Regina may have hated her mother, but she was still her mother. She didn't deserve it, but she needed to be mourned. If only for tonight.

"Well I don't see why you're so upset," Rumplestiltskin cocked his head. "You begged me to help you get rid of dear old Cora, so I did. You should be thanking me."

"Thanking you?" Regina snarled, incredulous. _How dare he?_ Hurt flared in her aching veins, a hot prickle crawling across her cheeks. "If you'd just helped us before, when we asked, none of this would have happened!"

"Wouldn't it?" Those unnatural eyes were trained on hers. The world was the darkest shade of blue imaginable; there were no stars tonight. A pale smudge of moon skulked amongst the night clouds, glancing off the snowy fabric of her wedding dress (shroud) and sending deep shadows sprawling across the room. She'd been given the most luxurious chambers in the Mightfort, but Regina doubted she'd be allowed to keep them past tonight.

"You're a monster," Regina told him dejectedly, glaring. She wrapped her arms lightly around herself, shivering under a sudden breeze.

A smile spread slowly across the Dark One's face. "Says the woman who just pushed her own mother through a looking glass."

"I needed her to be gone." Her voice had fallen to little more than a broken whisper in the night. That was what scared her, truly, what terrified her most. How empty her heart was. A lump of lead, for all it held. Regina was just numb. She'd banished her own mother to another land and she didn't care. She didn't _feel_ guilty – not about that. She didn't feel anything at all. "Now she is."

"And you're still to be queen." He taunted lightly, grin baring his teeth. "Married. Trapped. Alone." Regina's eyes met his in a hard stare. Rumplestiltskin searched her gaze for a long time. "Without your precious Emma."

"Don't you dare say her name." Regina warned savagely.

He ignored her. "But all that could be your salvation."

Icy fury lashed through her. "No."

"No what?" He pressed, grin darkening to a snarl.

"No, I will _never_ use magic again." Regina heard her voice break, rise harsh and defensive in the thick night air, strangled around the lump in her throat. She curled her fists tighter, nails biting into the skin of her palm. The pain helped her think. "I'll never be like her!"

Rumplestiltskin studied her, eyes roaming and widening. She scowled. Eventually, a light smile replaced his grimace. "Whatever you say, dearie."

And then the smoke was swirling, and he was gone.

-0-

When Emma woke up, the world was on fire.

The first thing she was aware of was the smoke in her lungs, thick and acrid, invading her in a relentless assault that tore each cough from her with more force than the next. Her aching body doubled over, wracked with each hacking cough. She was choking, choking on it. Water streamed thickly from her eyes, stinging, blinding. Bile rose in her throat.

Straw was scratching at her skin, her body was rocking, where – where? Emma's memories jolted back into place as the cart dropped suddenly to the ground. She grunted, gasping for air and finding only pain. She swung her legs over the end of the cart, stumbling to her feet on the hard-packed dirt. Shouting filled the air, rough voices shot with panic, high screams that shivered against her bones. Gasping, Emma raised her head, squinting in the glaring sunlight.

Chaos ruled. People were running, gagging on the air, some carrying bundles of possessions. There were buildings everywhere, taverns and smithies and houses, all of them aflame. Tongues of red and orange and yellow licked at the sky, flickering curtains, devouring everything they touched. Monstrous groans filled the air as buildings cracked and caved to the destruction. The once-blue sky was scarred grey with the smoke of destruction. Everything was warm, too warm, heat washing over her skin.

Somewhere, horses hooves thudded against the dirt, men were shouting. Emma couldn't see them. Words were forming in her mind. _Elmar's holdfast. Town. Raids._ The confused fear that had ripped through her was beginning to give way to a fire of her own, blood laced with fury that seemed to undo her at the seams. These were her people. Her innocent people. Without thinking, she turned, gagging on her breath, and ran into the burning streets.

She swooped down to pick up a wailing motherless child, squinting through the destruction. The fire was everywhere. This was no baker's oven spilled over. The word _strategy_ surfaced in her hazy mind, but she shoved it away, hoisting the child onto her hip and holding her tight as she ran. Emma had no idea where she was going, only that she needed to move. To help. Her people. Her people. Failure. Death. Wooden beams creaking and crackling. Kindling. Her eyes stung, throat burned, skin seared. There was a woman frantically trying to tie a blanket of bundled silverware to her donkey, and Emma zeroed in. "Leave it!" She could hear her own guttural cry distantly, as if from far away. "Take her instead!"

She thrust the child at the woman, whose silver was spilling in the dust. Emma fled again, praying he realised the price of life. She tossed her frantic glance all around. The holdfast itself seemed to be falling to the chaos, shouts from inside growing louder. But it was only the town and the holdfast, contained. Emma stopped amidst the destruction, raising her voice until it hurt and then more. "This way! Make for the woods!" She was screaming, but not everybody heard. It didn't matter. "The woods!" Emma motioned with her arms, tears streaming thickly, trying to shepherd as many people as she could. After the first few took notice and followed her instructions, the rest seemed to follow.

Ash was falling like frost, scorching snowflakes drifting in the air. The flames were advancing, and the sound of hooves, of steel on steel ringing stridently. Emma was hurrying after the refugees, heading for the sanctuary of the pines, mind buzzing to try to make sense of what was happening when she heard the scream.

She had heard lots of screams, but this was the last one. Thin and frantic and high as no grown person could be. Emma shot one last watery glance at the tree line and turned, weaving through the panicked crowd, a fish against the current. Foul-tasting bile threatened to choke her, but it didn't matter. The screams were cutting her right down to the bone, she'd never live with herself if she didn't at least try. Emma held her breath against the acrid invasion of black smoke, fighting her way through fire and debris and frenzied livestock, pausing with a ragged heartbeat to hear it again. Left, it was coming from the left, where the animals' enclosures were. She ran, gaze desperate, searching.

"Help me!" It came again, strangled and desperate, and Emma's head whipped down to see the source.

The great wooden fences separating the pigs' pen from the goats had collapsed, blackened and crumbling, against the dirt. The animals were gone, but there was someone trapped beneath it. A very small someone. Pale face, ash-streaked brown hair, yelling and struggling. He couldn't have been more than six. Panic rose in her. Emma dropped to her knees, digging her fingers beneath the beam. The burned side crumbled under her fingernails. A long, low groan escaped her as she tried to wedge her shoulder under it, feet scrabbling in the dirt as she forced _up_ with all the strength she had left.

Emma cried out with the pain of it, teeth gritted, eyes streaming, bruises protesting wildly, but she pushed through it. Her shoulder was crushing, trembling, sweating muscles screaming, heartbeat ragged, breath all gone from her. "Out!" She managed to scream, the instant she felt the weight shift.

The kid wasn't stupid. A small, pale body lunged out into the open just as Emma's shoulder gave and the wood dropped heavily to the dust, sending up a storm of dirt. She was on her feet in a second, though how was beyond her. "Where are your parents?" She yelled, through the panic. Red hot sparks spiralled through the sky, searing her skin where they landed.

"They left when I was a baby!" He shouted back. So Emma snatched his small hand in her own and ran.

He kept good pace, stumbling only once or twice as they neared the edge of town, coughing furiously. The tree line was getting closer and closer, the other side of the small grassy plain, they just had to get out of sight. The thunder of hooves swelled in the air. Emma's blood iced over in her veins. She stopped suddenly, staring around.

A horse had been tied to a post nearby, snorting and screaming and hoofing the ground. He was a big carthorse, unsaddled, terrified, probably never been ridden in his life before and yet...

Emma felt the boy following her as she raced over to the animal, fingers working at the tough leather knot that bound it. With a panicked glance behind her, she dropped her work and spun to face the boy. He was staring at her with wide eyes so full of dependence and fear it hurt, huge in his pale, dirt-streaked face. Half his cloak had been seared away, his hair was all a tangle, boots too big. She gasped for air. "You're gonna have to trust me now, kid."

Before he could reply, she'd lifted him up, pushing with all her might until he could swing a leg over the horse's back, pale hands fisting in the animal's mane. The horse whickered nervously, clearly distressed. But Emma had no other option. The shouts were growing in the air, rough, violent voices. She snatched a rock off the ground, beginning to saw through the horse's tie. It gave way quickly. She kept a firm grip on her makeshift reins as she kicked off from a fallen beam to join the kid on the horse's back.

Emma sat behind him, so she wrapped her arms around him to grasp her makeshift reins. With frantic glance over her shoulder, she winced and put her heels to his flank. The animal shot off. She kept her arms strong, despite everything, to stop the boy from falling. He was breathing heavily now. The wind rushed over them as they rode away, jolting and rough. A final glance back at the burning town confirmed what she didn't want to let herself suspect – her heart sunk through her insides like a rock through water. The black banners of Ironhaven were flying from the holdfast.

But she couldn't let her mind stick on that. "Kid," she managed, voice rough and unfamiliar in her own ears. "What's your name?"

He was still gasping air as if he would never breathe again. "Henry," He told her. "My name's Henry."


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N ~** Angst ahoy. For the sake of your health, don't listen to Here With Me this whole chapter. However, it is double update time! Purely because instead of making y'all wait a week before I kick you when you're down, I'm going to hit you doubly hard and then make you wait a week before I cheer you up. No, really, don't thank me.

 **12.**

When Emma Swan found her way back home, her parents were sitting a small council meeting.

So she let her shocked servants stable the carthorse, and find Henry a place, and she found her way back to her chambers in a trance. Nothing felt real. It was all some dream, some wonderful dream about a clean, safe place where people knew her name and nothing was on fire. When she sunk down into the hot, soapy water of her bath, nothing had been more surreal.

Emma leaned back and let the water wash over her. The warmth seemed to seep through her skin and into her bones, drawing the ache from bruises she'd forgotten she had. She let her eyes close. It had taken days for her to get her bearings after the fire. She and Henry and the carthorse had made their way across the land slowly. She was glad to have the kid for company. He talked so much it made her forget to listen to herself. By taking care of him she had to take care of herself. When she'd caught her first glimpse of the White Palace in the distance, she'd cried. Emma thought it was a dream until the world fell silent as she rode through the courtyard.

And now here she was, back. She stayed in the bath long after the water cooled, scrubbing layers of grime and dried blood and mud and ash from her battered skin, her hair. When the soap bubbles were gone and the water was nearly black, Emma drew herself out. Slowly, determinedly, she made herself real again. She dressed the wound on her side and spent a long time combing the knots from her hair. She dressed in a clean shirt and trousers, belting a sword around her waist. She didn't ever want to feel the vulnerability of not having one ever again. Emma tossed the ragged scraps of the other outfit into her lit hearth. She'd never wear those things again. It was funny; two dozen wounds on her body and the one that hurt the most was the fading pinprick on the end of her finger. She laid on her bed, soaking in the smell of it, and stared at her ceiling for a long time.

Her servants kept telling her to rest but she doubted she ever would again. So Emma left her room and drifted to her parents solar. She became the ghost she used to be afraid of. Not long after she'd sat down on the bench at the table, the doors burst open and then there were her parents and her brother and they were crying and so was she. They embraced her fiercely, and stayed that way for a long time.

Eventually, Emma found her voice. "Neal, do you mind going, for a minute?" She searched his stubborn blue gaze. He was so tall, now nearly as tall as her. She had no idea when that had happened. She brushed her hand through his hair absently. "I need to talk to Mother and Father. I'll come find you after yeah?"

"Okay." Neal agreed grudgingly, and before he left he wrapped her in another hug, so hard it made her bruises ache.

Once the door slammed, she drew herself up to her full height and glanced from her mother to her father. Getting the words out around the lump in her throat was hard – she felt six years old again, scared and small and ultimately helpless. "It was George, his men." She managed, after a while, voice dragging in her throat. "There was a town burning, and it was him, there were the Ironhaven flags, and..." Her mother's tearful gaze darkened, and sought her father's. Emma watched in horror as her father's shoulders and expression collapsed into a sigh. Her heart sunk and lifted anxiously at the same time, blood suddenly very cold in her hot veins. She swallowed. "What?"

"Emma... Sweetheart, we know." Father told her, voice weighed down with something immeasurable. _No._ Emma felt the tears welling behind her eyes, fists curling tightly. _No._

"After you left King George's elder nephew was killed in a brawl at the wedding by one of our men." Mother explained heavily. _The wedding._ She was using that soft voice Emma recognized from years of hunts, the voice you used to approach a dying animal. The killing blow. Emma's heart was shaking and sweating. "That was the final straw. They declared war a few days later."

Emma collapsed. She didn't remember starting to cry but the tears were searing tracks down her skin and falling onto her shirt. Her heart was disintegrating, veins freezing and shattering and her mind was clouded and tangled and through the chaos in her brittle glass bones one word remained. "Regina," She managed softly, choking on the sound. "We're at war with Regina."

"Yeah." Father nodded, as Mother turned to give him the most heart breaking look.

Emma couldn't breathe. Her skin was burning. "I made it worse, didn't I?" She realized suddenly. The princess of a country you're in conflict with runs off with your fiancée. Yeah, that looked good. "Didn't I?" She demanded, shocked. She'd made herself real but that had made everything else real, too. She was collapsing, her chest was caving in. Her parents swept her up before she could fall to the ground, a tangle of warm arms and hot tears holding her upright. They were just kids. She'd kissed her hand and showed her the light on the ceiling and now everything was wrong. Emma buried her face against her father's shirt. " I just wanted her to be happy," She managed. "I just wanted her to be happy, I just..."

Mother's voice was wavering, her hand was rubbing her back like she did when she was little. "We know, sweetheart, we know."

"I just wanted her to be happy," Emma whispered into the darkness. _I just wanted her to be happy._

-0-

Regina sat rigidly in her chair by the window, fingers brushing the glass absently.

Just beyond, was the world. Endless grey sky sprawled above a jumble of dark stone buildings and dancing treetops. A thin pane of glass was all that stood between her and the rest of the world. Her home, so far away. She drew her knees to her chest and shivered. The Mightfort made her feel so small, severed from the rest of the world. Drifting. She thought she'd be happier once Mother was gone, but she was never gone – her voice was hissing in Regina's mind at every thing she did. Similarly, just as there were so many miles between them now, Emma was always there with her.

She rose abruptly. Contrary to her thoughts, she had been allowed to keep the personal bedchambers they'd given her. Regina had slept there every night, save for the wedding night. And thank god. She woke in darkness screaming Emma's name like clockwork every time. That first night had been the worst of her life, nothing but pain and disbelief and the stink of wine – but the ones that followed had been the loneliest. She'd hide under the thick blankets, entomb herself in pillows and try to pretend it was Emma's warmth wrapped around her. If she'd learned one thing from married life it was that pretending never worked.

Regina sighed heavily, running her fingers over the windowsill. She wanted to scream. Maybe she should. Nobody would care, anyway. It was clear that King George had only agreed to the wedding so Xalvadarr would join his side – _she_ didn't even want to be on his side. But it didn't matter. Every day she sat at her window and watched troops departing, wondering if one of them would be the one to kill August or Neal or David or Snow or – no. She shook the thought away. She was just so helpless, trapped between these walls, trusting nobody, believing nobody, talking to nobody but the _Dark One_ and the fairies that never came. Queen in nothing but name. She was just so angry. _All the time._ When she was trying to fall asleep, when she was reading alone, when she was sitting at breakfast holding a knife she could use to kill herself or kill the king (she scared herself, sometimes, the things she thought). She'd given up on trying to run away. They didn't let anyone in or out any of the gates now without questioning. Another perk of war.

A hard knock on her door shocked her awake. Regina shook her thoughts away, brushing her skirts down and taking a breath. She cleared her throat, careful to keep her voice level. "Come in."

The door opened sharply. One of the guards stood in the doorway, dressed in King George's crest. Regina nearly sighed. This was one of the worse ones. Though her husband had promptly ignored her after their first morning together, some of his men were courteous enough. Some were not. The man in question was neither; he didn't seem to like her or not. He didn't feel anything for her at all. She was simply a _thing_ to him. And that was worse. "Your highness, His Grace the king requests your presence in his solar immediately."

Regina stiffened. She nodded, fighting the chill in her blood. "Of course."

She swallowed and forced herself to follow him, pretending her heart hadn't sped up against her ribs. She was still trying to figure out what kind of man King George was when it came down to it, and what kind of wife she needed to be to keep herself safe here. Which was hard, considering Regina hadn't seen him more than three or four times since. So she'd stayed neutral. Regina followed the guard through the winding stone corridors, trying to organize her thoughts. She didn't like this castle. The Mightfort was big and ugly, made for command and rather than home. Regina didn't remember the journey, but suddenly she was in front of the heavy wooden door of the king's solar. The guard knocked and stood aside.

"Enter," A rough voice called from inside, impassive.

Regina tried not to think about what she was doing as her fingers closed around the doorknob and pushed. This whole situation was completely absurd. She hung close to the door until it closed. Her husband – _painful thought_ – was seated at a long, richly laden table, tearing chunks of bread off a loaf. Her fingers curled tightly into fists at her sides. She schooled her features into a neutral mask, however hard they were trying to scowl. The king didn't look at her when he spoke. "Come. Sit."

She came and sat, keeping her spine rigid and head high as she drew up a chair opposite him. Regina refused to look young or weak in front of this man, no matter how young or weak she felt. He didn't speak again for a while, so Regina turned her stare onto him. She hoped she could make him feel – not guilty. She just wanted him to see himself for what he was. He didn't look at her. Fury surged in her veins. She had to speak – she'd surely hit him if she didn't. "You summoned me?"

"Yes." George conceded, taking a deep drink from the enamelled goblet beside him. Regina dug her nails into her wrists under the table so she wouldn't glare so openly, no matter how he deserved it. She had to look out for herself first. He was so ugly. That might have been unfair; he was old, after all. But there were lots of things that were unfair. After making her wait a long time more, he placed his fork down hard against the table and steepled his fingers in front of him, finally meeting her gaze. "How are you finding your quarters?"

"They're fine." Regina forced the words out with the most painful smile of her life. He offered her a goblet of wine.

"Good." He said, without any implication he had any feelings about it at all. He was a man made for war, Regina thought, calculating and hard. If Emma was true steel, George was iron: grim and unmovable, likely to break before he bent. There was a garish gold chain hanging over his black doublet. "I've called you here to set some rules for our marriage."

 _Rules for our marriage?_ Regina thought, incredulous. She fought the urge to lunge across the table and slap him. "Yes?"

"Well, that won't do for a start. You'll need to call me by my proper title in public. If my own wife doesn't respect me, how can they?" He tore off another chunk of bread before going on. "Respect is the cornerstone of my kingdom. The most important thing."

 _I don't remember any respect on my wedding night._ Regina gritted her teeth behind her fixed smile to stop herself from cursing the bastard to the ground. "Of course, your grace."

"The Mightfort is not particularly festive. Castles are made for ruling and when ruling becomes fun you're doing it wrong." The king explained. _Stupid man,_ Regina thought scathingly. "However, I'll expect you to attend whatever feasts or celebrations I host, and travel with me to any I am invited to. You will not accompany me to any councils or meetings away from here."

"Very well." Regina made herself say, forcing a smile.

He studied her for a moment, not critically like her mother or wondrously like Emma, but clinically; a man trying to solve an arithmetic problem. If that was the case, Regina resolved to be a trick question. After a long time, he finally began to speak again. "You are scarcely more than a child. Don't think it's slipped my notice." _Isn't that why you wanted me in the first place, you bastard?_ His gaze flickered up to hers across the table, as he delivered his next line carefully. "But whether or not you are treated childishly is up to you. I heard of your meeting with King Midas."

She froze, hand around her goblet. "What about it?"

"You advised him on how to wed his daughter," George reminded her, something that wasn't entirely contempt inhabiting his gaze. "Play coy all you like but I know you aren't stupid. There are a thousand girls just as young and pretty and wellborn as you. But you are here instead of them because you might just be able to provide me with some kind of intelligent conversation. Do you understand?"

Regina didn't fight the furrow between her brows. "So, what? You want me to sit your war councils?" She stared. "Your grace."

"That's not what I said." George corrected sharply. "I want you to know what is going on in the kingdom that you now belong to. Perhaps this will involve being present at my councils, but make no mistake. You will not act stupid, but your decisions will never count against mine."

"Of course not," Regina couldn't help the bitter, scathing corner of a smirk curling at her lips.

"After all. I took a wife because after all that nastiness with Midas and the dragon, I need heirs. Some Callendor brat slew my eldest nephew in a bar fight, and the one that's left is a fool." His mouth tightened. "I've put too much into this kingdom for it to be run into the ground the instant I'm dead." He paused. "And one more thing."

"Yes?" Regina pressed, expecting another ridiculous ground rule. She took a sip of wine in preparation. She'd never liked the taste much before, but since the wedding, when Daddy had filled her up glass after glass, she'd learned the benefits.

He fixed his cold grey stare intently on her. "I'd like you to tell me what exactly happened between you and that Callendor princess."

Regina slammed the goblet down on the table, meeting his stare without worrying about her expression for the first time. "No."

She could see the anger flare up behind George's eyes – but he was better at controlling his expressions than she was. She supposed years of reigning had given him practise. "For your sake, Regina, I'm going to ask you again. What happened between you, my wife, and the heir to the country that I am at war with?"

Fury shot through her veins, sharp and hot. Regina knew it was stupid and childish and she might regret later, but she refused to break. He'd already taken everything. He _couldn't_ have Emma. He couldn't have Emma, and hearing her own name on his lips angered her. Regina rose sharply from her chair, watching the king of Ironhaven struggle to keep control. He looked so surprised. Until now, she'd been so good and docile. Well, he couldn't have Emma. "No." She repeated.

He stood suddenly, matching her, rage glittering in his eyes. "What?"

"You've laid your ground rules, and I have accepted _every one_." Regina told him firmly, around the lump forming in her throat. "Now I am laying my _only_ one, so you will accept it. Don't talk about her."

"You do not tell me what to do, woman," George snarled, anger palpable. His breathing was heavier now. Regina turned swiftly, edging around the table to leave the room. He caught her by the wrist. His skin, she'd noticed, had the same callouses left by swords and reins as Emma, except it had no feeling behind it. It made all the difference in the world. There was no comparison, she'd learned, and pretending wasn't worth the pain. Not when Emma's hands had been so gentle and careful and kind and strong, and there was only cowardice, and _weakness_ in the way his dug into her. She expected the slap – a hard backhand blow to the side of her face that made her gasp and stumble for a moment – but that didn't lessen the pain.

She straightened carefully, hand tentatively rising to touch the tender skin. And it was funny; she'd always thought Mother's slaps hurt because slaps did, but now she was realizing they only hurt because it was Mother. This was nothing; it meant nothing to her. Regina raised her gaze to her husband's, but he spoke before she could. "Please, do not cause trouble for me again. I did not enjoy that, and I would not like to do it again."

"Yes, your grace." Regina plastered on the fakest, stupidest smile she could muster. "Will that be all, your grace?"

He glared at her. She smirked, taking the annoyance in his eyes as a trophy. "Get out."

Regina got out. She pushed out the door, letting it fall shut behind her. As she hurried through the castle, back to her own chambers, she finally allowed the tears to come. She didn't cry because he'd hit her. She could just tell he wouldn't waste his time doing it again – she cried because he was there. With her. And Emma was somewhere far away. And they were supposed to be at war with each other. Regina slammed her own door behind her, throwing herself onto her bed. It seemed she'd opened some gate, and now she was sobbing. Because she was five years old and she thought she was bad because Mama didn't love her, but Emma had kissed her hand anyway and looked at her like she was special.

 _Emma_ was the special one. Emma danced with her and held her hand, Emma smiled at her and made everything alright. Emma never lied to her, and when she kissed her all the bad things went away. Emma risked everything to find some witch just to help her. Emma was the lifeline that had tethered her to herself. And now she was drifting. Without choice. Without control. Without freedom. No. _No._ Regina rolled up to sit on the side of her bed for a moment before rising and shaking the hair from her face. She steeled her voice. "Rumplestiltskin, I summon thee."

"Finally came to your senses, dearie?" The Dark One trilled, appearing from nowhere at the window with a wide grin stretched across his face.

Regina wasn't in the mood to humour him. She found his gaze and told him bleakly, "I want you to teach me magic."

-0-

Emma had been lying on her bed for hours when the knock came.

They were at war. And she was the heir, the warrior princess, the one who should be leading rallies and battles but all she could do was press herself into the furs and try to catch the last lingering traces of the smell of Regina there. Pathetic, she knew. But it was just... it felt like there was something missing inside of her, like something had taken a chunk out of her. She was collapsing, from inside out. Could it have been mere weeks ago that she had last laid here with Regina in her arms? She didn't even know what was happening to Regina now. If she was safe. She was supposed to be trying to kill her.

The knock was soft, timid, almost. It pissed Emma right off. She was tired of people treating her like she was broken, even if she felt like it. She didn't move. "It's open."

She heard it open and close. "Hey," Neal's voice was gentle as his knock. Emma sighed heavily against the thick fur, listening to his footsteps coming closer to the bed. "You okay?"

She didn't say anything.

She felt him sit on the edge of her bed, felt it dipping under his weight. "Emma. Please talk to me." His voice was thin and strained. "And don't tell me that I'm too young or I won't understand because that's all everyone ever says to me but I'm not and I do." He hesitated, sounding his age again. "I don't know what's going on, everyone is saying we're at war, and we can't see Regina again for a while but nobody tells me why. They just brush me off and try to shelter me but I'm not a little child anymore." He sighed. "I just want to understand."

Emma stared at the wall. She felt kind of... bad. Guilty. She had just assumed Neal was dealing with things without ever bothering to check. Sometimes she forgot he was a twelve year old kid, prince of a troubled kingdom. She swallowed, pushing the tears from her voice. "We are at war, Neal." She told him. "Against Ironhaven. We went there when you were little, you probably don't remember. That's just King George, but we don't know what Salmere or Aurumford will do, or even if Ethervale and the others we have treaties with will help."

"Oh." Neal was quiet for a long time. Like he was mustering his courage for his next question. "What about Regina?"

The words hung in the air. Emma fought the tears building up behind her eyes. "Regina's married to King George now." Her voice wavered. "She's queen of Ironhaven. Or Princess Consort at least, it doesn't matter."

"We're fighting against Regina now?" Neal's voice was full with shocked horror.

"Yeah." Emma managed, voice breaking. "We are."

Without a word, Neal moved closer across the bed and curled into her. She could feel his fingers toying with her hair. After a while, he found his voice again. "I always thought you were going to marry Regina."

"Yeah," Emma realised, sniffling. "So did I."

-0-

Regina stared at the parchment in front of her, the blank sheet of paper staring her in the face accusingly. The quill was cutting into her fingers she held it so tightly. Months. How could months have gone by since the last time they saw each other, exchanged words? They'd been months apart before. Their whole relationship was build on saying goodbye.

Somehow the view was different from the opposite side of a war.

This was treason. She knew it. This was the king of Ironhaven's wife committing treason against him. _Well, good._ Regina's heart had hastened against her chest, but she didn't care. For months she'd been walking around this castle like a ghost, keeping her smile polished while her lungs froze and cracked, shattered into a thousand shards inside of her, shifting when she moved to cut at her boiling insides. Months of wondering if _she_ was happy or hurt or getting enough sleep. Yearning to remind her what a great leader she could make if she wanted to. Listening hard in war councils she wasn't welcome at for any glimpse of the princess' whereabouts, whether she was fighting or not.

The lessons were good. The lessons made her feel like she'd chosen something for herself. They were entirely hers, and nobody could take them from her. She could set small fires now. The lessons were good – but they weren't Emma.

So Regina pushed back her tears, gritted her teeth, and wrote.

-0-

 _Emma,_

 _It's taken me a long time to get here. To the place where I can do this. I hope that's alright. Please don't feel obligated to write back. I just can't go without contacting you a moment longer. It's bizarre. I'm surrounded by people and yet without you I feel completely alone none of them help._

 _Things are different here. Everything has a purpose and exists simply to serve that purpose. You'd hate it. But I'm getting used to it. Slowly, but I am getting used to it. If anyone found this it would be considered high treason now. So be smart._

 _I miss you._

 _Regina_

 _P.S: You'd eat the knights here for breakfast._

-0-

Emma was returning from a council, unfastening her half-cloak as she walked through the doorway to her bedchambers when the saw the raven. It was perched on her windowsill, pecking at the cracks in the stone. A tiny roll of parchment, bound in black ribbon, was tied to its foot. Her heart stopped.

She hurried across the room, cloak falling heavily to the floor. Her fingers raced to free the scrap. Her mind was racing. Ever since the war began there had been dozens of birds every day, carrying messages from every corner of the Enchanted Forest. Bearing every kind of news. But that didn't explain why somebody would be sending a message directly to her. This was the window of Emma's private bedchambers. A furrow creased her brows. Whoever sent this knew what they were doing.

The ties dropped to the floor. Emma unrolled the paper. She stared at the handwriting. And she swore her heart caved in.

 _Gina,_

 _I can't even begin to tell you how much your letter helped me. Even though you couldn't say much. I can read between the lines. But we don't have to be afraid of this. Use nicknames and hide the letters somewhere safe after. I'm going crazy without you._

 _I have so much to tell you._

 _First of all, I've been released from training. They said if I didn't already have a title it would be a knight's one. Dad's proud. Mother's less enthusiastic, though. I can tell she's just worried it means I'll be off to the front lines soon. Which is kind of hypocritical if you ask me, because I know she's itching to grab her bow and get amongst it._

 _Neal's missing you. He's my height now, which means shit, he'd be taller than you. I haven't thought that before. Weird. He's thirteen now, and he's trying to grow a beard. It looks like he's stuck a dead mouse on his face. They asked him whether he wanted to train properly as a knight too, but he prefers his books and music. Our parents are fine, though. Means they don't have to worry about him so much._

 _I'm just worrying about you. It's an old habit I can't seem to shake._

 _E_

 _P.S: Good, because I'm seriously considering taking you as a hostage of war just so I can see you again._

 _P. P. S: Joking._

-0-

When the raven scratched at her window, Regina knew who it was from. She had to rub away threatening tears as she unfurled the letter. It was silly. But it wasn't. It wasn't. This was the one piece of crazy that had ever made sense.

-0-

 _E,_

 _I wish I could say I was happy about your achievements, but I'm afraid I'm with your mother. I couldn't be more proud, but I don't want you to fight. I was such a mess every time you went on raids, I can't begin to imagine how I'd handle you leading real troops in a real war. Particularly when I've seen the people you'd be fighting._

 _That was selfish. I'm sorry._

 _I miss Neal too. I'm not even going to think about him being taller than me. You don't have to worry about me. I'm handling things. There's so much I should tell you. It just feels wrong to write it all in a letter – I hope you understand. Mother isn't around anymore. I get this terrible feeling of being trapped sometimes. Like those birds people keep in cages. Like I don't even belong to myself anymore. It's disgusting. I'm pushing through it. In my own way. I won't go into detail but I'm working through it because I refuse to feel this way._

 _I'll stop going on now. I hope you're safe. And I hope you're happy._

 _Yours,_

 _Gina._

 _P. S: You're welcome to._

 _Gina,_

 _Don't say things like that. It just makes me want to go kill somebody. All I want is for you to be well. I_ don't _feel safe and I_ don't _feel happy without you. Sorry. Fuck. I don't even know what I'm writing anymore. Do what you need to do. And please just remember that you're good and right and I believe in you._

 _You wouldn't believe the state of the palace if you saw it now. Men and women and boys as young as Neal, all lining up with spears and arrows to go off to war. Mother's leaving soon to lead a campaign along somewhere I can't tell you, just in case someone finds it. I know she was a champion archer before I was born, but hearing about things and dealing with them are a lot different._

 _Shit. Is this how you felt when I went off on raids?_

 _Not seeing you hurts and I don't know how long I can go on like this._

 _E_

 _E,_

 _It's the same over here. I feel like I'm living in a training camp. Soldiers are everywhere, supplies keep running low – your mother is damn good at whatever she's doing. She's still unharmed, by the way. I overheard some men talking about it. With her gone, I hope you're handling things. Whatever you think, you're good enough, you always have been, please, please try to understand that. And if you can't, just remember that I think that. However far away, I believe that._

 _I wish I could talk to you properly. This is such a pale imitation but it's all we've got. I keep wondering why. Why we ended up like this, trapped in a war we didn't want, keeping hold of scraps of paper to stay sane. What makes anyone else's happiness more important than ours? We did everything right._

 _It's all wrong now._

 _Sorry for weighing you down. It's the last thing I want. I'm just having a bad day._

 _R_

 _Gina,_

 _I get it. I have my bad days too._

 _All I want is to smile and get on and write you a long hope speech because trust me, you deserve it but I'm not sure I have one in me. That's always been my parents forte after all. Like a lot of things. Mother's been writing me too. This whole thing is such a mindfuck. I want it to be over, I want everyone safe again but if I win, what happens to you? I don't even want to think about that._

 _Can you just tell me some boring everyday normal things about your life there please._

 _E._

 _E,_

 _I'm spending more time sitting councils. I don't think anyone's happy about it._

 _Daddy's a valet now. It's strange but I think he's more comfortable like that._

 _The drapes in my bedchambers are heavy and decidedly not blue and I wish they were._

 _They moved my apple tree here, and it bears more fruit than ever now._

 _Winter is starting here. There was frost all over the battlements today._

 _I had tea with my breakfast this morning._

 _Your turn._

 _Gina_

 _P. S: I lit a candle on your birthday._

 _Gina,_

 _I sit councils pretty much every day. It's boring and sad and strenuous so I'm not gonna talk about it._

 _I've been riding out on scouts a lot._

 _August started writing his book. It's brilliant._

 _My parents gave me a proper sword for my birthday._

 _It needs a name but I don't know what to call it._

 _It's cold here, too._

 _E_

 _P. S: It didn't feel like a birthday anyway._

-0-

So they struggled on, writing bits of treason and betrayal back and forth for as long as they could. After almost a year of separation, she had a collection of letters a span thick. Emma had hidden the stack of papers in a false bottom in her wardrobe – she'd sat by the hearth half a dozen times, urging herself to just burn them and give in to safety, but every time she ended up standing with a sigh and hiding the letters once again. She knew it was stupid, but those were _Regina's_ letters. Regina's careful script writing Regina's words on Regina's paper. Her hands had brushed that parchment and poured her thoughts into it and hell, they were hundreds of miles away. It was the closest they got.

Emma kept her letters from her mother in a different pile, towering on the table in her bedchambers. The queen had extended her campaign along the western front, leading the defence. Every day people talked of Snow White's valour and the inspiration she gave her men. It was hardly cheering. Meanwhile, her father was trading and farming and running around the castle trying to patch up Callendor's unravelling economy – which left her to do all the rest. Emma was almost glad of the endless days sitting courts and picking soldiers and writing treaties and summons until her hand ached: it stopped her thinking too much.

Thinking weighed her down. Thinking just reminded her that every time she gave a knight an order she was ordering him against Regina. Every time her heart soared at Mother's good tidings in battle, it sunk straight after. She was a traitor to every side and every side of herself. She'd lie awake at night and wonder if she really wanted to win this war. Her winning meant Regina losing. Her safety risked Regina's. Sometimes Emma thought that was preferable to sleep. Often, her sleep was leaden and dreamless and she woke more tired than when she'd laid down. The worst nights were the dream nights, though. The hours she dreamt of the past that was beginning to feel more and more like an old story, about two little girls lying beside a creek with flowers in their hair and ignorance in their small hearts. From those she woke grasping at ghosts.

It was a grey and drizzly morning the last raven came.

Her tight chest eased at the sight of it, and seized up at the same time. All the relief of being with Regina and all the pain of not being with her smashed together. Emma should have been more prepared. She worried, of course, but she always worried now. Regina had seemed more burdened in her letters lately. Emma shooed the bird and unfurled the parchment, and everything that was left fell apart. She could feel the lump harden in her throat, tears welling painfully behind her eyes as she scanned the parchment.

 _Emma,_

 _Before I say anything, please understand how hard this is for me. I think I'm on my ninth try writing. Please know that I have spent so many nights thinking on this that I've lost count. But also understand that it's a necessary precaution. It would have happened somewhere along the line, and I suppose I'm just getting it done first._

 _I'm going to stop writing to you._

 _And I think you should stop writing to me too._

 _For your own safety, we can't go on like this. Every day I watch men and women hung for treason, troops marching off to die. This is war, Emma. Not the kind of war we used to pretend, with dragons and wooden swords but true war, where people die. I am nothing to my husband. He would have no qualms killing me or assassinating you. You are well loved in your kingdom but there are those that would not take kindly to this. Death is everywhere._

 _I'm afraid. Every time I send a letter or receive one I fear the worst, I'm anxious for days on end. It's too risky now, and the pain isn't worth it. I want you to be safe and I have to look out for myself too. If anything happened to you because of my letters I wouldn't be able to live with myself. We've been selfish long enough. It's time to be smart now._

 _Please don't reply._

 _Yours always,_

 _Regina_

Emma's shaking fingers curled tight around the paper like a life raft. It was the only one she had left now, after all.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N ~** This time I am truly very sorry. But fear not, the next chapter will make it all worth it. Promise. Promise promise promise promise okay just hold on please

 **13.**

Emma gripped Feather's reins hard enough for them to bite into her freezing red hands, trying to ignore the unsettled feeling lying heavy in her gut. Instead, the concentrated on the crisp air rushing over her skin, the claustrophobic net of mounted guards and lordlings riding around her, the cloudless colourless sky sprawling on and on above her head. It was what she'd been doing this whole journey – ignoring. Four months since Regina had effectively severed herself from her, and here Emma was, riding straight towards her.

It had taken a lot of letters and envoys before the unmovable King George of Ironhaven, Callendor's current enemy number one and husband to Emma's – who even was she to her? – husband to Emma's _person_ agreed to a meeting. It would last as long as it needed, and no weapons would be allowed inside the council chamber. Emma thought it was a fucking stupid idea.

But her parents – for Snow had returned at the beginning of summer to regroup after a victory laced with loss – had insisted. Both sides had lost too much, they said. They were damaging the whole country with their fighting, and soon would face more enemies because of it. It was worth a try, they told her, even if it amounted to nothing. But they were famous for being pacifists and optimists. Emma was not. And yet somehow she'd ended up here. Her mother was with her, but they'd left her father and Neal to manage what was left of Callendor from the White Palace. After all: she was the third leader now. Whatever the hell that meant.

Emma urged Feather forward, the horse's back warm beneath her. The pommel of her sword bumped her hip as she rode, and her hair was in her face. Soon enough, the looming walls of the Mightfort grew from the advancing horizon. She curled her fists tighter around Feather's reins, lump in her throat rising, growing, choking her. Her blood was boiling and frozen by turns. Her insides were crashing and hurtling around her stomach like a storm at sea. The thunder of hooves in her ears was deafening. The grim towers of the castle were getting closer. The foreboding Ironhaven countryside gave way to towns, peasants that stared as if Emma was a demon riding past their doorway. She wanted to turn around and run away and die. She wanted to ride harder until she could storm the castle walls, find Regina and never let her go. There was a war in her mind that she would lose either way. She was going to be sick.

When they approached the gates, Emma was just astonished she managed to climb down off her horse and stand on her own two feet without crumpling to the ground (or running inside like mad). Soldiers clad in the black of their enemy were everywhere, ready for command. Emma wasn't wary, though. She wasn't anything expect everything. She stood in the courtyard, staring up at the Mightfort without breathing. _Regina is somewhere inside there._

She followed their escort into the castle, the sound of her boots against the stone floor echoing her heartbeat.

-0-

Regina forced herself to put one foot in front of the other, stare fixed on the dark stone wall at the end of the hallway, fighting the tears that threatened to spill over any minute. Her breath was coming raggedly, shallow then heavy. Her nails dug into her palms as she walked, firmly keeping her chin raised. Her footsteps echoed. She'd told the maid _specifically_ where she wanted the princess to meet her. _Any minute now._

She stopped abruptly in the deserted corridor. A tea stained twilight flooded dusky light onto the black stone walls, torches casting shifting auburn shadows across the floor. Regina swallowed hard. She wouldn't blame her for not coming. She still wasn't sure which was harder. The longer she waited the more doubts crawled into her mind, prickled over her skin. Regina breathed deeply, staring up at the high ceiling. One day, she told herself, she would not have to be strong. Today was not that day.

Regina's hand found her stomach as she waited and watched, every muscle tensed. A second or a century might have gone by and she couldn't have said, before. Before the ghost with blonde hair rounded the corner.

Emma was walking, and then she was running, and she looked just the same. Her eyes were green and troubled and her hair was tangled and _gods_ , she was real. Regina's breath caught in her throat. Emma wore a doublet with the crest of her family over her heart. A stark reminder. There was dust on her boots and the sword at her waist must have been the new one, from her birthday. Her mind was empty. Her heart was heaving in her chest like an earthquake. It didn't seem real. They stood in front of each other for a long time, just staring, and breathing. Regina's heart trembled and shook. Where the light from the window crossed Emma's hair was solid gold. The air between them was aching, fragile, it felt like glass.

And then Emma lunged forward and pulled her against her. Regina's defences fell to the dust. Held tightly against Emma's chest, with the painful smell of cinnamon and leather and home overwhelming her, the familiar rhythm of her breathing against her, the familiar brush of her hair against her face, it was hard to remember why it hurt when Emma's arms were the only real home she'd ever known. The first tear fell, searing a path over her face. There was one moment, one perfect moment, where all her better judgement melted away. For that moment, all of Regina's worry and pain and regret vanished. And all there was was the feel of Emma's arms around her, her gentle hands threaded in her hair. Her heart was aching.

"'Gina," Emma whispered into the top of her head, in the shattering voice that had haunted her all this time.

That jolted her from her trance. It took everything in her to find the strength to disentangle herself. Regina furiously blinked the tears away as she pulled back. She searched for words. Her breaking heart was shaking and shivering. _Words, just get the damn words out._ But she couldn't speak around the lump in her throat. Without thinking, she turned her gaze up into Emma's, forcing her tears to hold back just a while longer. Her eyes were just as she remembered, the green-blue of the ocean and now as rocky, edged with brown eyelashes and dark circles that spoke of sleepless nights Regina could relate to. There was so much her eyes held then, it shocked her back to life. She breathed deeply. She wondered how to start.

Emma cut her off before she began, lifting a gentle, calloused hand to brush her neck and leaning in to touch her lips to hers. Regina's insides melted. Her skin was warm and familiar. She could feel her pulse jump in her cheek. What was left of Regina's heart broke away into a dozen pieces. Their razor sharp edges cut her insides where they fell. She let it last a moment, though she didn't know why. Somehow Regina found the strength to lift her hands to Emma's shoulders and firmly push her back, ducking her head to break the kiss.

Regina gasped as the tiny flowering warmth inside her chest died. Emma was staring at her, brows drawn in confusion, eyes wide and lost. Her hair fluttered around her shoulders, her breathing was familiar as an old song Regina still remembered the words to. Before she could speak, Emma had stepped forwards again, shaking her head softly and sliding her arms around Regina's waist. Regina shook her head, swallowing hard. Her hands found Emma's, detached them from her skin. The lump in her throat was unravelling into tears.

She couldn't bring herself to let go of Emma's hands, so she kept them held in hers, in the space between them. "No, Emma." Regina forced herself to meet Emma's stare. Her voice sounded so small in her own ears. She swallowed. "I can't."

Emma's features twisted in confusion, bewilderment. She opened her mouth, and blinked before she found the words. The look in her eyes was cutting deep into Regina's chest, twisting. She cleared her throat. "I don't understand..."

Regina ran a thumb absently over the side of her hand. "Emma," Her voice was breaking now. "It's taken me almost two years to even _begin_ to heal from you. Stopping the letters made it easier. They're just pale imitations of the past, reminders that we can't – we can't have that. What can we have? A few secret words, kisses in the shadows. And then you'll go. I'll have to say goodbye like I always do." The next words were little more than a broken whisper. "It hurts too much, Emma."

Realisation was beginning to crawl across Emma's face. Her wide eyes were shining now with tears, desperate, jaw clenched. Her hands were warm and familiar. She blinked several times, shook her head. When she managed to speak her voice was small and hoarse. "'Gina..."

"I didn't want us to burn out." Regina told her, strained with honesty. She sucked in a breath of air, battling threatening tears. "I didn't come here to hurt you. But I have to look after myself now. And you." She stopped fighting. Another tear fell, wet and accusatory on her skin. "There's a whole world out there waiting for you, one where you don't have to worry about me. There's someone out there that won't make you want to cry all the time." Regina gripped her hands tighter, begging their warmth to seep through her skin and fill her up one last time. She dreaded the moment she would have to let go. "Emma – no matter where this road goes one of us was always going to end up here. I want you to know you couldn't have done better. So move on. Be happy enough for both of us."

"I don't want to," Emma confessed suddenly, voice shattered and thick with grief. "I don't want to be happy without you."

"I will _always_ love you the most." Regina told her, loosening her grip on her hands. She stared up at her, searching her shining stare, blasted with tears. She tried to smile; she didn't think it worked. "But it's time for you to move on with your life now. So I'm already gone."

Emma stared thickly, tears spilling down her cheeks. Regina thanked the gods her own were blurring her vision too much to see. Looking made it harder. So with every last scrap of strength she had left, Regina gave her hands a final squeeze and let go. Then she made herself turn around, and walk away.

With her back turned, Regina gave in. She was crying now, squeezing her eyes shut while tears streamed thickly down her face. Her footsteps were louder than her heartbeat. She was choking on the tears. It hurt _so much_. It was the kind of consuming, shattering hurt that she'd always turned to Emma with. The first sob wracked her body in a shuddering gasp, but only when she'd turned the corner did she let herself collapse against the wall, shaking as the pain took over, insides curling in on themselves. She let it tear through her. Regina cried hard until her stomach hurt, every ragged breath a traitor in her empty lungs. Her skin was sticky, and all she could taste was the salt.

She didn't look back.

-0-

Late summer was flowering across Ironhaven and still the war raged on.

As crops and flowers erupted into bloom and Regina tried to get on with what life she could, still men fought and bled and died on the rick dark soil. The heat made it all worse; heavy burnished sunlight beat down mercilessly all day and well into the night, withering supplies and sapping energy. Men sweated out their body weight, armour scalding to the touch. It made Regina restless. Of course, it wasn't like she ever left the Mightfort. She was still trapped in this damned oven of a castle, skirting around her husband and trying to think of everything but the ghost. Which was easier said than done when she'd spent all her life being haunted.

She'd done the right thing. As the months hurtled by, stretched into another lonely year, that became clearer to her, if nothing else. The seasons changed and people were killed and born, and Regina no longer weighed herself or Emma down. She'd cut the ties that bound them – the ties she hadn't realised bound her to herself – and now she was just drifting. For sixteen years her life had been Emma. Without her, there was a hole. A great gaping wound in the middle of her life, just starting to scar over. It still hurt to touch.

So Regina tried to let it – not heal, she had a feeling it never would, but – let it scar in peace. She worked her life around it. Or rather _built_ her life around it. She might not have Emma anymore but she refused to have nothing.

While winter melted into spring that beaded into summer and summer stretched on and on, Regina had been working hard to reinvent herself. Almost every day she trained under the Dark One's watchful eye. The feeling of it was incredible. She could almost feel the power growing under her skin as she kindled it, ready to be called on. She did as Rumplestiltskin said and it felt like choosing. That's what she was doing now – choosing. Finally choosing. Finally, she thought she might be taking the war into her own hands. Briefly, she wondered if this was how Emma felt when she went off on quests.

Regina ignored the pain buried in her chest and gathered her weapons. Every morning she breathed and set her bones at her mirror and put on her war paint. The paints and powders she'd always hated when Mother forced them on her became another way to win. As she sat more and more councils, she began to learn. She learned that Lord Rowan never cleared the maps away properly afterwards, that the captain of the guards would tell her anything if she asked stupidly enough and batted her eyelashes and that battle strategies were as easy to memorize as courtesies. King George wanted an intelligent wife, well, he was going to get one. _And we'll see how he likes it then._ Slowly, surely, she learned to rule.

She was seated at the end of the table at one such council when she learned yet another of the king's faults.

"And what of the host at Fort Brennan?" Her husband was asking begrudgingly. He was slumped in his carved wooden chair, mouth reduced to a thin hard line, eyes flashing angrily every so often. She was half a table away, but she could tell he was in a black mood. Regina shot a hard glance over at him. He wasn't happy with her coming to these things in the first place, but he was never happy with her anyway.

Sir Allen swallowed. He was nervous, Regina could tell. That wasn't good. He cleared his throat. "Ah, just under a thousand men remain, your grace. Supplies are very low. Morale is down."

Regina watched George's expression curdle. "Morale? I don't care about morale, how have we lost so many? Less than a thousand. Gods."

"It was Queen Snow White's doing, your grace. Her and her daughter." Allen explained. Regina stared up sharply. "The princess lead a small party around the south of the stronghold, attacked in the night. They were gone by dawn. A dishonourable trick, your grace."

King George grunted to show what he thought of that. Regina's gaze darted around the room as she sat up straighter in her chair, trying to pretend her breath wasn't caught in the throat and her heart hadn't leapt at the words. "Honour," he spat. "Send more men. If they attack again we'll need them to hold the fort."

"Of course, your grace." Sir Robar nodded. Regina glared at him sideways – the master at arms was near as old as the king now, but he still thought he was a new knight, handsome and brave. "I'll send them off as soon as I can."

"Make sure you do." George muttered. "And in the meantime..." He sighed. Regina studied him in silence, taking in the clenched jaw, the knuckles blanching around the stem of his goblet. "This _princess_ is proving problematic. She clearly thinks she's one of the heroes from the songs come again, and unfortunately for us, her people seem to agree. We need to get rid of her."

Regina's heart missed a beat. She blinked, swallowing hard and forcing her expression to stay impassive. She stared between the fools, fingers curling into fists in her lap. Lord Emon was the first to speak. "We can all agree the woman has to die, but in the right way. The last thing we want to do is turn her into a martyr."

"You haven't been able to kill her before," Regina heard her own sharp voice reminding them. "What makes you think you can now?"

Roaring silence fell heavily over the room. Regina breathed in sharply, blinking and turning her stare out onto them all. Usually she just sat quietly and listened, noting whatever she could use later. She hadn't meant to say anything. But she had, and there was no reason to back down. She glanced between Allen and Waymar defensively. Sir Robar cleared his throat first, "A fair observation, my lady, but you have a woman's gentle heart, and no mind for war." He chuckled. Regina resisted the urge to slap him. "We'll find a way."

"Quiet, all of you," George snapped. She could see she'd rattled him. _Good._ He sighed heavily, and seemed to look right at her when he spoke. "I'll buy an assassin. One of the shadow binders from the south, dress him up as a Callendor servant. Slip some poison in the royal wine. Clean, quick job, pass it off as an illness. No martyrdom there."

Regina felt her blood ice over in her veins. She drank deeply from her glass, mind whirring. Already, one thought was surfacing. She knew what she was going to do.

That night, when the king summoned her, she was ready.

The moon was a pale smudge in the starless sky, shadows pervaded only by the soft red glow of torches and candles, dancing orange and scarlet across the black stone. Regina kept her head raised, strides sure, without any effort. She might condemn the rest of her life, she might make everything a thousand times harder, the Dark One would have a field day with it, but this was what she had to do now. She drew in a breath, another, before raising her fist and knocking on the king's bedchamber door. A year ago, six months ago even, the very thought of this would have repulsed her. _Strange_.

"Come in," The king's voice grunted, from beyond the door.

Regina lifted her chin and pushed the door open with her left hand, walking purposefully into the glow of the firelight. Her loose hair was tickling her shoulders. Inside the king's chambers, the light from the hearth and the torches bathed the bed and the table in soft orange light. It cast strange shadows on the floor, and across the hard planes of her husband's face. She curled her fingers into a fist beneath her long sleeve, forced herself to look at him if not smile. "Your grace."

He turned his stare onto her, sullen and impenetrable as usual. _He really despises me so much._ Regina watched impassively, studiously. The king of Ironhaven was sitting on the edge of his bed, boots strewn across the floor at his feet. He looked tired, and angry, and Regina's heart beat faster than she'd like. "Get over here and shut up."

"Your grace is charming as ever," Regina murmured under her breath, trying not to glare as furiously as she wanted to. Her skin was crawling with anger, but she battled it and pushed it down. Anger made you stupid and right now she needed to be smarter than she'd ever been. So she fixed on the impassive mask she'd been perfecting this past year and sat beside him. He scowled.

"I'll warn you now," George snapped, the instant she was close enough to smell the wine on his breath. It clung to him like a woman's perfume, like it had on their wedding. He glowered. "I'm not happy about your outburst earlier." _Nor I yours,_ Regina thought harshly, fighting the scowl that itched to crawl across her features. Her husband narrowed his eyes at her, as if trying to read her traitorous thoughts. Regina very nearly rolled her eyes. For such an intelligent man, King George was remarkably stupid. "In future you'd do well to keep that pretty mouth shut."

Regina's fingertips itched beneath her sleeve. She stared at him, no longer caring if all the hatred and fury crept into her gaze. "But not tonight?"

He gave her a withering look. "You are an insolent little witch, you know that?"

 _You have no idea._ She nearly laughed. She nearly laughed, and that told her it was time. Regina sighed, straightened her spine and sought his gaze. "You enjoy this, don't you?" Beneath her sleeve, her fingers curled lightly. Briefly, her blood flashed cold and her breath snagged but she pushed it all away. "Going against me and throwing it my face."

"I enjoy making strides for the good of my kingdom," George corrected brusquely. His tone inferred that there would be no more talking tonight – Regina wholeheartedly agreed. _For the good._ "The Callendor princess will die. The war will turn in our favour. And you'll learn to respect your king."

Regina fumbled under her sleeve for the hilt of the dagger and drove the blade into his stomach.

He gasped sharply. Bathed in amber glow and sharp black shadows, shock clouded the king of Ironhaven's features for the last time. His eyebrows drew together as he stared at her, wide eyes flashing with confusion beneath the dancing shadow of his brow. Regina stared. Before he could save himself, she yanked the blade from him and drove it again into his chest. Hysteria was rising in her blood but she wasn't crying. She wasn't anything. Regina just sat there and watched with twisted fascination as the red stain crawled across his white shirt, shining wetly in the orange torchlight. _Like wine_ , she thought, _just like wine._

Regina made herself watch his eyes empty. Then she slid the dagger free, with a sickening jerk, and let it clatter to the floor. The burning torches reflected in metal where her husband's blood dried. The lump in her throat was unwinding. _You killed a man,_ her better judgement wanted to make her see, _you're a killer. A murderer._ But she didn't care. Because the rest of her was only thinking one thing, and that was that _Emma's safe._

Slowly, Regina rose to her feet, standing over the dead man's slumped body. As she looked down on him, a strange numbness falling over her like dust. Vaguely, she knew she should by crying, but all her tears had been used up on a little girl with blonde hair and a wooden sword. The king's eyes stared blankly at the ceiling, unseeing. _He will never see again because of me,_ she realised. _And who are you,_ the small voice in the back of her mind (the one that pulled her back to reality when she thought she was enough, the one that still sounded suspiciously like her mother after all this time) _to say if his life is worth less than Emma's? Who are you to decide who lives and who dies?_

Regina swallowed. _Just a concerned friend._ After all, she'd said it from the start.

He couldn't have Emma.

She pushed all of her doubts and fears away, taking a breath and getting to work. Quickly stripping him of his bloodied shirt, Regina strode to toss it in the hearth. The knife she would take back to her chambers with her. As for the rest... Regina cleared her mind, going back to stand over the bed. She stretched her fingers out above his breathless body, closing her eyes and focusing hard. In the darkness, she reached for the power, summoning the waiting magic. She'd been practising. Regina found the power – the raw, sparkling _energy –_ and let it wash over her. Through her. She concentrated, put everything in her towards directing it, through her hands, out. She shivered, feeling it working through her. Regina's eyes opened in time to see the last of his wounds closing up, torn skin melting seamlessly back together.

 _Clean, quick job. Pass it off as an illness. No martyrdom there._

The next morning, she rose with a fresh set of chains, and a new heaviness on her shoulders. But somewhere, a thousand miles away, Emma was rising too. And that made it worth it.

Regina pushed back the covers, bathed and dressed before dawn. She reworked herself. For years now she had styled herself to preserve her life, and now she must continue to do the same. She sat in her bathtub and scrubbed the old Regina off her skin fierce enough to hurt. For the first day of the rest of her life, she dressed simply. Everything had to be thought out, but she couldn't bring herself to wear mourning clothes. Not for him. Instead she chose dark blue; sombre enough to be respectful, herself enough to make her feel strong. She had to be strong now.

They told her over breakfast. He must have passed peacefully in his sleep, they said, and Regina rose from the table because she wasn't hungry. For the sake of trust and loyalty, she tried to pass it off as a gesture of grief. The ret of that could wait.

Regina summoned the men of the small council – the scant few she trusted, at least – almost immediately. Her breath was caught up around her ribs but somehow she didn't feel afraid. She felt good. Right. Strong. For the first time the posture and the raise of her chin came naturally, and she didn't care how the royal advisers were gushing. "Your majesty, I think it would be prudent to –"

"What you think is prudent is not what matters just now, Lord Waymar." Regina interjected sharply, staring from man to man. She doubted she'd keep any of them on much longer. "I will decide how best to mourn my husband and I will, but you forget we are still fighting a war."

"Of – of course, my lady, but –" Sir Allen was stammering.

"But this is a crucial moment. Our enemies will want to take advantage of our weakness when the news breaks out." Regina reminded them sharply. Was there anybody competent in this damned kingdom? "My husband is dead. There are seven years until his nephew and sole heir comes of age, which makes me Queen Regent until then. So you're all going to have to trust my judgement."

"Of course, but –"

Regina took a sharp breath. "In that case, you'll cancel whatever plans my husband made about Emma Swan." She plunged on before anybody could object. "Snow and David might be optimistic and faithful but they're still human. If we kill their daughter that's something they won't ever forgive or forget. It'll only fan the flames." She risked a cautious glance from man to man. "If we do this, you can say goodbye to any hope of peace."

The air had shifted with the balance of the world. Relief washed over her tense muscles. _You're free to live another day, Emma,_ Regina thought, _just make it worth it._

-0-

Emma woke late to high golden sunlight and a banging on her door.

She groaned into the pillow, burrowing her face deeper into the soft cloth. Her hair was tangled across her face in a ragged blonde curtain, her muscles ached, still flowered with bruises from the last attack. The knocking persisted, so she groaned louder. Then her mind woke up and a thousand thoughts and memories rushed on her, and she remembered who she was and what was happening. Emma sighed and rolled over, stumbling to answer her door. _These stupid new maids, they don't need to knock_ , she was thinking, blowing the hair from her face and yanking her door open.

"Hi." The kid was beaming in the doorway. He looked way too happy for her liking.

"What d'you want?" Emma managed, mind still fogged with clinging tendrils of sleep. Briefly, she wondered if she was putting the kid off, standing there bleary-eyed, in a rumpled shirt and the same roughspun leggings she'd been wearing for twenty four hours, hair crazed from sleep. Well, too bad. She was the heir and leader of a war-torn country – small chirpy children could wait. She frowned – through her still heavy thoughts, the memory clicked. Emma felt her mouth fall open a little. "I know you!"

"I'm Henry," He reminded her. "The boy you saved in the burning village." A grin inched across his small face. He fidgeted in the doorway and it brought a smile to her face, if only for a second. She could never stay still when she was little, either. Emma looked at him properly then – he'd grown since she brought him home with her two years ago. He was barely a scrap of a boy then, underfed and tiny, but now he was like this whole little person, with fine brown hair and a miniature version of a knight's leather jerkin. Then he danced forward on the balls of his feet, swinging back and forth like the little girl Emma used to know, and the smile died on her lips. "I'm your new squire."

Emma swallowed, moving to turn away. "I don't need a new squire," She told him bluntly, picking up a fallen blanket from the floor and throwing it back across her bed. Henry took the opportunity to slip past her into her bedroom. She stared after him. "Hey!"

"Yeah you do." Henry informed her, nodding as if he was the grown up and the reasonable one. Emma scowled. "You used to have Terrance squiring for you but he's been away fighting for ages and now you don't have anybody." He flashed another huge smile, wandering over to the table by the window and small fingers dancing over the wood. "You gotta have a squire."

"No, I don't." Emma insisted, frowning. She hurried over to him when he want to pick up one of her latest inventories, discarded on the table. "Hey – put that down –" She grabbed it from him, trying to herd him back toward the door. The kid wasn't moving. "Who told you to be my squire, anyway?"

"Your dad. I mean, his majesty." Henry shrugged. "He said he thought I'd be good for you."

"What the hell's that supposed to mean?" Emma muttered to herself. Apparently, the boy had heard it, because he pulled a face and shrugged again. She sighed. "Don't you have... kid stuff to be doing?"

"Nope." He shook his head. "I used to just go wherever they needed me. So I helped in the kitchens when I was little, cause Tom was cook then and he couldn't see good, and I was helping with the horses for a while but then your dad came and found me and asked if I remembered you. And I said yeah, because you saved my life and took me here. So he asked what I liked doing and if I liked knights, and I said that I liked wizards more, and those people that look after the books. And he asked whether I wanted to be your squire."

Emma frowned at him and folded her arms, suspicious. "If you like wizards and books so much, why'd you say yes?"

Henry blinked, looking up at her with enormous hazel eyes, shining in the sunlight. _Why'd he have to do that?_ He seemed to consider for a moment. "Because I never knew my parents. So I just hung around the village where you found me, even though I didn't like it there and people were mean. I didn't have anywhere else to go, and no one took me on adventures." He shuffled his feet sheepishly before meeting her eyes again. "When I got stuck in the fire I thought I was gonna _die._ But you saved me. You didn't care if I was just an orphan. You saved me and let me sleep by your fire and eat those rabbits you hunted and then we got here, and people were nice and I got to do things. You're a real knight, Princess Emma." He informed her earnestly. "A real hero."

Emma's breath caught for a moment. She stared, mind suddenly filled with _just say the words_ and _I know you don't think you're a hero but I do, and I'm here_ and then fuck, her heart was pulled tight and painful, and the lump that taken up permanent residence in her throat was swollen. "Ok." She swallowed, moving suddenly away. "And don't call me Princess Emma."

"Okay, you'll let me be your squire?" Henry's voice was so full of hope and joy it tore at her chest and curled her mouth into a ghost of a smile at the same time.

"Okay, I'll think about it." Emma corrected, although she knew how this was going to go. She didn't have to look around. She could already see Henry's smug little smile.

So Emma acquired a Henry.

She could tell from the start he'd be hard to get rid of, but what surprised her was that she didn't want to. For years – ever since the war begun, ever since _I just wanted her to be happy_ , she had been alone. Surrounded by people, giving and following commands, training men, rallying troops, writing letters and inventories and signing warrants and treaties, and yet she had been alone. Emma hadn't realised until now, looking back with the kid at her side.

However silly it sounded, Henry gave her something new to fight for. She'd been fighting for a nameless, faceless mass of duty for too long. If this little boy could survive cruelty and fire and all the rest the world had already thrown in his face, Emma could survive anything too. And she needed to protect people like that from anything else that might come their way. Anything but the beautiful girl she used to protect.

So Emma threw herself into her kingdom with new spirit. She found life in all the things that killed her. Because sometimes it took running out of breath to show her she was still breathing. It was a weird lesson to learn from a little boy with a smile too big for his face, but stranger things had happened.

It wasn't until late autumn that she received the news. King George was dead. Until his nephew and only surviving heir came of age, the Queen Regent Regina would rule Ironhaven in his stead. Emma thanked the messenger and cancelled her plan of lunch with Neal. A strange, heavy feeling spread from her gut to settle over every part of her while she walked back to her bedchambers and closed the door behind her, frowning in the spray of sunlight. It felt as if every bone and breath in her body was coated in lead. Emma sat down on her bed, and then lowered herself back, to the side of the mattress that had once belonged (like her heart) to a girl with brown eyes. _We're fighting against Regina now?_ They hadn't been. Not properly. Not until now. Emma stared at the ceiling for a long time.

And as she laid there, she realized two things.

It had been a year since she last saw Regina Mills.

And never, not once in her life, had she told her that she loved her.


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N -** I'm sorry this is so late! It was a bank holiday on my usual update day and long story short, I ended up in London where I can't get online, but, late or not, we are finally here! The chapter I have been waiting to write since day one. The final time skip (for a while). THE PROPER PLOT. Hallelujah.

 **14**.

Emma stood on the cobblestones of the inner yard, wind tossing handfuls of blonde hair around her face. She just had to breathe.

Though the sky was endless and faded of any colour at all, the air dancing over her skin was crisp and clean and pleasantly cool. The air in her lungs was a different matter. Shaky and hot, clinging to her throat. Emma focused on breathing in and out, squinting through the breeze at the great iron gate. Usually – since the war started, six years ago – there was a whole legion of armed guards in mail questioning anybody going in or out of the White Palace without a warrant, but today was different. Today she, the Ruling Princess of Callendor, was waiting with all her advisers and retainers. Today, maybe, would mark the beginning of the end of the fighting. Emma's fingers brushed anxiously over the pommel of the sword at her hip.

She'd been trying to explain it to Henry earlier, when he helped her with her sword belt and ceremonial clothes. "It's like a big version of a small council meeting," Emma had told him, wincing as she fussed with the fastenings of her fur-lined cloak. "Except instead of the lords here, it's with everyone we're fighting."

"I don't understand," Henry told her hopelessly. Now nearly twelve years old and smarter than he had a right to be, Emma wasn't afraid to say her squire of three years was quite possibly her best friend. And maybe her only one. "Won't you all just try and kill each other?"

"We're under a truce vow," She'd explained. "It basically means we're not allowed to harm each other. So we can try and move forward." Emma sighed then.

"Because when you fight a war, everyone loses."

So there she stood, waiting. Though hair and cloak stirred in the breeze, Emma kept her stance solid and her expression unreadable. With her mother off fighting in the south again, and her father bedridden after taking a stomach wound in battle, she was the primary leader of her country. Regent. Queen in all but name.

She was scared shitless.

But it didn't matter. If war taught her anything it was that no matter what you thought, no matter what you felt, you just had to get on and do it. You'd want to cry or sleep or die or run away but you couldn't, because the whole world was yours to protect. So you pushed on. And push on she did.  
Emma shifted on the stones, frowning at the gates. Her breath was cold and scraped her throat. Few had accepted the invitation, but it was the few who mattered. The king and queen of Ethervale. Prince Desmond of Seafort. And the one whose name still turned Emma's bones to dust after all this time.  
The one that was making her insides writhe and her blood burn, the one that the very thought of reopened the ever dully-aching wound she'd spent three years trying to close. So Emma had been trying not to think.

Her heart leapt at the sudden rumble of a distant carriage. She shot a glance over at the gates, now creaking open for the carriage, trimmed in the gold and black of Ironhaven. She was in that carriage, so close now. _I don't have the strength for this_. Emma's tongue darted out to wet her cracked lips. Despite the cool breeze, her cloak was suddenly to heavy on her bruised shoulders, prickling heat crawled across her cheeks and neck and the inside of her chest. Anxious fingers danced on the pommel of her sword. She watched, heart speeding up against her ribs, as the carriage drew to a stop. A groom hurried to stable the horses, four whickering black mares that Emma only registered not Rocinante. Her mouth was dry as her mind. There was nothing she could do as the thing halted, and a valet went to open the door. She just had to stand there, watching helplessly, flotsam on the tide of fate. She hoped she didn't look too gormless.

The valet's gloved hand closed around the handle of the carriage. The door swung open. And there she was.

Emma's heart stopped beating.

Ducking out into the bright grey light and stepping to the ground with an elegance Emma had not quite forgotten, was Regina Mills. She muttered something to the valet before turning to face Emma, and she wondered briefly if this felt the same for her. Regina stepped forward slowly, brown eyes meeting Emma's at last. Four years. Twenty, actually, and her heart still disintegrated into dust in her chest, her breath was still lost in her ribs. Emma had lost everything – all she could do was stare. She was here. This woman who she hadn't been able to save. The woman who was currently ruling the country she was at war with. And she was real.

 _How'd we end up here?_

Regina had not grown in the last four years, but she seemed taller somehow. Her presence was bigger. Emma's gaze trailed over her, mouth dry. Less than a metre of bright grey air crackling between them. She looked different and exactly the same and for the first time Emma couldn't read what she was thinking. That made her feel strange. A few thin dark strands had escaped the demure sweep of her soft hair, and lifted in the wind around her face and the fur of her stole. Emma made herself meet Regina's level gaze. Something had changed in her eyes, and it wasn't the black kohl. They shined the way she remembered.  
Regina was staring at her, vein pulsing in her forehead, posture rigid, lips tight and painted red. Emma swallowed hard. How many times had she kissed those lips? Felt that skin under her own? How many times had she stared into those same eyes and forgotten the rest of the world? All that seemed a thousand years ago now. Some distant dream. Emma made herself step forward, holding her stare. "My lady," she managed.

The dozens of people standing in the yard faded away. Her mind was blank, so she did the only thing she could think of. She reached for Regina's hand as if in a dream, wrapping her fingers lightly around hers, as she had done so many times before. She brought it to her lips with the cold air bright around them, and she let go when her heart broke. Emma was heir to Callendor, after all. And Callendor was nothing if not traditional.

But it also didn't waste time.

The next morning, when everybody had arrived, Emma sent the summons for the meeting and waited. She was doing okay, all things considered. She hadn't slept at all, but the endless night had given her time to organize her thoughts. She couldn't let her feelings take over. Not now, when there was so much at stake. When the bloodshed had gone on so long. Emma wondered if she'd hurt Regina by wordlessly putting her in the old bedchambers with the blue silk drapes.

Despite all that, she wasn't tired. The tense crackling energy in her tingling veins saw to that.

Slowly, as she sat shifting anxiously in her hard wooden chair in the council chamber, they began to filter in. Ethervale's king and queen, exchanging heavy glances as they took their seats beside one another; the Seafort prince Emma could never stand. And Ironhaven's Queen Regent, who had been the little girl she'd loved, once upon a dream.

She rose to her feet immediately when Regina entered, for some reason. Emma stood there, fingertips still resting on the table, staring as Ironhaven's regent took her seat. She swallowed, suddenly aware of everyone else's eyes on her. Tight heat prickled across her face and she tried to ignore it, wondering what the hell she was doing. _Pass it off_. Emma cleared her throat, managing somehow to find words. "Welcome, honoured guests." She tore her gaze from Regina for a moment to address the whole room. "I've invited you here today to discuss the conflict ravaging our lands, the eastern threat, and what might be done for the good of the realm."

Emma sat down awkwardly. Her bones felt strange, like kindling about to catch alight. Regina was looking at her, with dark eyes full of things she'd forgotten how to read. How could they act like strangers after all that they had? Emma was forgetting why. "I know we're at war. I know we have our differences, our grievances. But right now every one of us has one thing in common." She breathed in. "We're losing. Supplies are down so we steal each others, crops are failing so we burn each others, and we send our young men off to kill each other. At this rate we'll destroy ourselves, every one of us. We've all heard the rumours. To the east, Salmere and Aurumford are united in their Eastern Alliance once again. Their kings gather supplies, assemble armies. In this state, they'll destroy us. Together, maybe we'd stand a chance. "

"And what would you propose we do?" Prince Desmond asked, slouched back in his chair with hard eyes behind his uninterested expression. Emma could see why his father sent him; she'd want to get rid of him too. He was sitting beside Regina, and kept glancing to her. Seafort had allied with Ironhaven as Ethervale had Callendor, but Emma knew it was an unstable bond. "Throw down our swords and hold hands while they kill us all?"

"That's not helping." Regina told him bluntly, sighing. Emma's heart jumped. Even her voice had changed, matured, almost. There was more of an air of nobility, of natural command there now. She nearly smiled. That voice had been her tether. It had built her up and torn her down and made everything alright. Finally, Regina looked to Emma. "Go on."

"Look, every one of us here has lost too much. If we don't rebuild before this alliance attacks, we will lose everything." Emma tried to quash her feelings down, although none of what she was saying seemed important. The heavy turning in her stomach was rippling her blood. "King Edric, you have Seafort hostages. Desmond, you hold miles of Ethervale farmland. Couldn't some trade be in order? You're at a stalemate, we all are."

"I'm not discussing our hostages with _him_ sitting there." King Edric snapped, with a venomous glance. His wife laid a hand on his arm but it did little to calm him.

"It doesn't matter, we know you let Prince Cedric slip through your fingers." Prince Desmond responded airily, apparently pleased with causing the Ethervale nobility discomfort. A smug smile curled his features. "He's home now, good as new."

Regina sighed, shifting back exasperatedly in her seat. The slant of light from the window fell across her face and shoulders, lighting her up. Her eyes were hard and cautious as they darted between the men, but there was something deeper she couldn't name. _God_. Emma had started to think the golden lens of memory had made her more beautiful than she was, but now she saw her again she realised that was stupid. Regina held herself so differently now, regal and almost comfortable with herself. The curve-hugging velvet helped, Emma supposed, heat rising to her neck. It was... It was intriguing, to say the least. Emma had always seen her beauty, but now it seemed that she saw it herself, and that made all the difference in the world.

She shook her thoughts away, focusing back on the situation at hand. Emma cleared her throat, about to speak. Ethervale's queen beat her to it, with a tight glare at her seething husband. "We can squabble over fields and wards all we like, but neither of us started this. King George, may he rest in peace, and Queen Snow, gods be with her - that was how this begun." She drew in a breath, glancing between Emma and Regina. "Of course, neither of them are here to finish it."

"You're right, this is our war now." Regina allowed, frowning.

"Leave us." Emma commanded suddenly, rising from the her seat. She heard the rest of them hurry to obey, but she couldn't seem to tear her gaze from Regina. She heard the heavy oak door swing shut behind the last of them, but it didn't matter because her mind was already taken up.  
Immediately, the air trapped in the small chamber seemed heavier, thickening and congealing. Sound dropped from the world. There was only the uneven rhythm of her breathing, and her pulse in her temples. Emma stared. Regina's gaze was fixed on her now, all the measured caution and cold intelligence of the meeting surrendered to shining, stripped something. She stood up slowly, and Emma drank in the afforded sight, the dark blue fabric that clung to her skin, the thick dark hair swept half up away from her face, the intensity of her dark stare. She wasn't sure who moved first but suddenly they were there, at the side of the table, and so close.

She could see Regina's chest rise and fall with her breath, full red lips parted slightly. Emma's mind was emptying. The inches between them seemed to be heavy with the weight of them, crackling and sparkling with some energy like stars, like magic, like fire. The inches between them were so fucking fragile, Emma was frozen and burning all at once. "You grew up." Regina said, words falling softly from her lips to hang like bubbles in the thick air.

Emma would have smiled, but it didn't feel like a laughing moment. "I could say the same for you." Her heart wasn't wild, it was heavy, slow, saturated with the past. It didn't make sense with her quickening blood, but she didn't care about sense. Regina's eyes never left hers, a thousand shades of the earth, flecked with black and amber. It might have been a second or a century they stood there, staring. The air between them was ripe with crackling energy and dust motes.

Emma didn't know who moved first, but suddenly Regina's hands were tangled in her hair and Emma was grabbing her hips and everything was heat and heartbeats and lips crashing together.

Her stomach flipped, blood surging, thoughts tangling up. This was nothing like the way they'd been. This was something else entirely, clumsy, messy, almost frantic. Like they were trying to get everything they'd been denied the last four years. Regina's mouth moved against hers, frenetic and soft and out of time, noses bumping and teeth clashing. Emma's hands kept moving, sliding from hip to waist to back to neck, grasping, desperate for everything. She'd been starving for years and she hadn't realized until she was fed again. When she slid her tongue along Regina's her heavy stomach roiled and crashed like a living thing. Now her heart was wild, hot and slippery and throwing itself at her ribs. It was nothing like it was before, but it was the closest they could get.  
Regina's skin was warm against hers, hands caught up in Emma's hair, nails against her scalp, pressing herself against her. Emma's grasp rose from her waist to slide tight around her back, tugging her closer, closer. Her hair smelled of apples, one of her warm hands dropped to curl against Emma's face. Her skin was waking up again, long forgotten nerve endings crackling back to life. Emma didn't remember when she last breathed but she didn't care, her lungs were full of Regina. Emma's mind flashed white hot when Regina sucked her bottom lip between hers, and she didn't even care where she'd learned to do that as long as she didn't stop.

The ocean in her veins took over. Emma moved forward, pushing with her body until Regina's breath hitched into her mouth when she met the edge of the table. It spurred her on, her whole body was fire, there had never been anything else. Regina's arms slid around her neck, pulling, mouth moving frantically as she pushed herself up onto the edge of the table without ever breaking the kiss. Emma stayed close, hovering over the table, determined not to lose any contact.

With a sharp gasp of breath, Regina pulled an inch away, arms still draped around Emma's shoulders. Her wide, meaningful stare found Emma's, breath ragged. She swallowed. Escaped strands of dark hair were falling in her flushed face. Her eyes seemed a darker brown now, deeper. Regina shook her head slightly, stare never moving. "This can't mean anything," she warned, voice low and unsteady.

"I know," Emma nodded, her own voice ragged and breathless in her ears. The bright grey light from the window fell across them. Their noses still touched. Her breath came out of time. Her messy hair was falling around them like a bracket, curtaining them off from the rest of the world.

Regina lay back against the map-strewn wood, hands finding the back of Emma's neck to pull her down on top of her. When their lips met again, the fire seared the rest of the world away.

-0-

Sunlight streamed in through the window as dawn eased into day, fanning out over the stone sill and lying across the familiar bedchambers. It glinted off the floor, settled like dust over the tangled covers of the bed, and the steadily breathing lump beneath them. Regina faced the window as she stood where she had a hundred times before, head bowed and brow furrowed as she laced up her dress. Her breath was heavy and reluctant in her lungs.  
Emma Swan's bedchambers hadn't changed much in the six years she'd been away.

"Where are you going?" A muffled voice called, somewhere beneath the furs strewn across the bed.

Regina cleared her throat and summoned the strength, fingers tugging at the ties. "You once told me I couldn't be seen leaving your bedchambers half dressed and that was before we were at war with each other." She paused, listening to the screaming silence all around, and her breath sticky in her lungs. "I need to inform my people of our plans."

"So we're agreed?" Emma pressed, sitting up with a strained huff and swinging her legs over the edge of the bed. Regina glanced over at her. Hair tangled around her head in a mad blonde halo, elbows resting on her knees, nightshirt rumpled – her green eyes were sharp and focused, wide awake.

"We're agreed." Regina nodded. "For the time being. We put aside our countries differences and work together to defeat the Eastern Alliance." She watched as Emma stretched, absently rubbing the back of her neck. They needed to stay professional now. Their alliance had to be just that – an alliance formed for the greater good. She focused on breathing in a normal rhythm, mouth tightening.

"And what comes afterwards?" Emma asked, with a hard sideways stare.

Regina brushed her dress down, breathed in, rolled her shoulders back and down. "We'll deal with that when we come to it." She didn't want to look back at her again. Looking back made everything complicated, which was why she'd been trying not to for the last four years. Looking back just reminded her of everything they wouldn't get back. It was pointless trying.

She knew she'd grown up since the last time but Emma had changed too. A blind man could see it. Instead of struggling under the weight of her kingdom, draped over her shoulders like a shackle, Emma wore it now like a suit of armour. It gave her a strength, an aura of power and an intensity that hadn't been there before. She'd grown into herself.

She looked different now, too. Her hair was longer, thicker than it had been. Her arms and torso were corded with new muscle, but that wasn't all she had to show for the war. Emma had been fighting. In real battles, the way her parents did, the way Regina never wanted her to. There had been scars, bites left by sword and axe, snaking red and accusatory across her skin, and however lost she'd been in the moment Regina's insides had stiffened at the sight of them. _My men did that_ , she'd thought, _the men I sent_. _I did that_.

It was all wrong. This shouldn't be how they turned out. But if this was her lot in life, so be it. Regina had to do right by the country she never wanted, now. Her own life didn't matter. Winning this war, that was what mattered. And Callendor was the way to do that. She lingered in the doorway, and glanced back.

"And Emma?" Regina said, bones heavy. Emma stared up at her. "We probably shouldn't let this happen again."

But it was an old habit, and they'd never cared for shouldn'ts.


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N -** Otherwise known as Henry is a ginormous shipper.

 **15**.

The abrasive sting of the wind tore at her cheeks and sent her half-loose hair lifting up in the crisp grey air around her. In all directions the Callendor countryside unfurled like a tapestry, pale green and wreathed with low-hanging mist. Regina stared toward the horizon, spurring her horse on after Emma.  
They'd been riding all morning, having left camp as dawn crawled upon the world. David was healing now – enough to sit on his chair with his bandages and cold water and do the less active side of ruling, with the help of Prince Neal.

Emma was doing the rest, and Regina... Regina was a part of that now. For our kingdoms, she thought, grasping the horse's reins tighter in her gloved fingers, for our country. To prove their allegiance and give new fire to the various encampments scattered across the land, Emma thought it prudent for the two of them to ride out together on her rallies.  
So here she was.

Regina spurred her horse on, watching her breath mist in the sharp air before her. On the horizon, smoke spiralled into the air, dozens of morning cook fires scarring the pale sky. As they rode closer to the camp, the unsettled feeling in her tight chest grew. Already, the could see tents, pavilions pitched under countlessly rippling banners, hear the rising buzz of an army coming to life. The faint clink of mail and plate, crackling fires, dogs barking, men shouting, carts rumbling, swords scraping on whetstones. The camp spread out beyond the horizon. _This was what I would have faced_ , Regina realised, staring, throat cold. The thunder of the horses hooves tearing at the soft muddy earth filled the air like a heartbeat.

"Stick close by me," Emma's shout whipped back at her, muffled by the wind as they approached. Her voice was raw and rough in the morning chill. "It's best I do the talking for now."

Regina nodded, slowing behind her as they rode through the outskirts of the camp, under a thousand silent stares. She raised her chin, rankled. There were guards riding with them, Emma's sworn soldiers and skinny little squire, and her own men, hand-picked of the Black Guard from Ironhaven, and she could conjure a fireball quick as she thought it, but none of that made the hard stares, the muttering any less unsettling.

She observed with a strange quiet pride the way the soldiers looked at Emma, the kind of respect that was almost impossible to earn. Emma seemed so comfortable out here, unbound blonde hair whipping in the wind, sword at her hip, horse beneath her – a dappled courser Regina didn't recognize. Feather would have been told old for long hard rides like this, she realised with that familiar tinging sadness of mourning a dream. Emma seemed so _right_. A true commander. A different sort of queen than she was, but just as worthy. _More_ , the tiny hard voice in the back of her head spat. She followed Emma through the lines.

Eventually, when the chaos of morning had faded and the men had assembled in their ranks, Emma called order. Regina remained still, with the rest of the mounted party, and the guards, watching intently as the girl who never believed in herself became all she knew she could be. Beside her, on his young mare, Emma's scrawny squire was fidgeting: he kept shooting curious glances her way. Regina tried to ignore him.

"Men of Callendor!" Emma's voice filled the air with a natural ease, loud and ripe with power. It made the corners of Regina's mouth curl into a smile despite everything. Emma was riding slowly up and down the lines of men, addressing all of them directly, person to person. "Every one of you has fought bravely and valiantly for the future of our land and for that I thank you. It is an honour to do battle along side you. Every one of you is my brother." A cheer rang out from the men, and Regina shifted atop her horse, watching these soldiers she'd been sending hers to kill staring up at Emma with such fierce devotion. It made her smile, however hard her chest was aching. Emma rode past again, hair and cloak and the mane of her horse streaming in the cold air. She looked strong, and beautiful and entirely herself. _Everything I knew she could be_. It made Regina's heart flower with warmth and tighten with loss all at once. She swallowed. Emma went on. "But one family alone will not be enough for what comes next. Our enemies are stirring in the east. Alone, we cannot hope to defeat the joint power of Salmere and Aurumford!"

An unhappy murmur rose from the crowd. Regina drew in a cold breath, watching the mass of tired men in mismatched armour cautiously. Emma's squire was staring at her again. She shifted uncomfortably. He couldn't have been more than eleven, short and pale with brown hair tangling in the wind. Regina didn't see what use he'd be. She ignored his squinting, turning her focus again on Emma, hair flying back from her face.

"Queen Regina of Ironhaven has accepted a truce," Emma shouted. Her words hung in the air for a moment, before the muttering and occasional cry of outrage or confusion came. Regina straightened her spine, raised her chin, jaw tightening. She kept her gaze level, and ignored the squire, who was staring more intently now. Emma raised a hand, and a hush fell on the crowd. "Our combined strength will be enough to overcome our shared enemies. If you have a problem with that, feel free to leave. From now until the truce ends, anyone seeking to harm the queen or any of her men will be charged with treason, and answer to me!" There were more than a thousand people in that field, but the world was completely silent. "Is that understood?" More silence. Regina tried to catch Emma's gaze, but it was resolutely fixed on her troops. "Is that _understood_?" Emma repeated.

A half-certain shout of acceptance rose into the air. Some, Regina could tell understood. Others she could see were uneasy. And some were downright outraged. Regina let her face remain impassive. Her horse hooved at the ground, whickering impatiently. She shifted, reins held tight.

"Good." Emma shouted. "Now. How are we all?" A louder cheer, still somewhat reluctant. Regina stared wondrously. _What the hell is she doing?_ She'd always been taught that to rule you needed to be separate from the common people or they wouldn't respect you, but this unity with them that Emma had seemed to garner more respect. "Ready to fight?" Emma urged. "Ready to safeguard the future of our children? Ready to protect our families? Because we won't succeed in that if we're alone!" When Emma reined up in front of her, voice rising with the spirit of her people, Regina caught the triumph curving her lips. "We can put our differences and our bloodshed behind us – look to the future!" This earned another cheer, louder, with more agreement than mistrust. Just a few words, and Emma had turned a crowd in a second.

 _I was right_ , Regina thought, breath caught in her throat as she stared. _I was right._

"My lady! Come forward." Emma turned suddenly, twisting in her saddle to look toward Regina. Shock coursed through her, brows furrowed. Emma gave her a look that clearly said _trust_ _me_. So, stupidly, Regina did what she always had. With a sigh, she urged her horse forward to join her old friend before these men whose brothers she'd had killed. Regina reined up closer beside her than she'd intended, feeling the squire gaping after her. "If the two of us can set aside all that has been done on both parts and stand together, united against our common foe then so can you. For your future." Emma declared, and then reached down to thread her fingers through Regina's.

Regina jumped, but she could hardly give Emma the startled, scathing look she wanted to in front of all these people. _Emma_ , _you wonderful idiot_. Emma grasped her hand tighter, and raised it high above their heads. She stared expectantly at Regina, blonde hair streaming past her face, aglow with pride, eyes sad and happy at once.

She knew she had to say something. Regina raised her head and lifted her voice. "For our future!"

As the men took up the cry, she felt Emma's fingers wrap tighter around hers, blood hot beneath her cold skin. Fingers she'd held a thousand times before. Regina turned to meet her gaze, coiled anticipation and something else stirring in her chest. Emma was smiling at her, hair tossed around her face, cheeks flushed red with cold and exertion, sunlight reflected in her eyes. A small smile curled at Regina's lips as she gripped Emma's hand high for the world to see, turning back to look out across their army with the wind in her hair and a glow unfurling in her chest.

-0-

Emma tried to keep her head down as she made her way across the sunlit courtyard, squinting in the glaring light. They'd returned from their tour of military outposts late last night, to almost no welcome. Neal had found her and had tea with her before they slept, to ask how it went, for which she was unendingly grateful, but everyone else had been asleep. Which meant now she had suddenly appeared back, everybody was desperate to talk to her.

She pretended to be deep in conversation with Henry to avoid them, hurrying to keep up with her on his short skinny legs. Spring was crawling into the air now, so she'd eschewed a cloak or coat, and the sunlight was flashing off the metal on her belt. "Was it everything you thought? Coming with us?" She nudged his narrow shoulder, shaking the hair back from her face. "Not much of an adventure."

"It was okay." Henry shrugged. "Just cold at first. And you were weird with Queen Regina."

Emma frowned, glancing sharply at him as they walked. "I'm not weird, how am I weird?"

He pulled a face, as if he was some wise old man trying to figure out how to explain something complex to a little child. Emma raised an eyebrow. She was the adult here, and he was her squire. Not the other way around. "You just are." Henry finally managed. "You _look_ at her weird. Your _voice_ goes funny. And you make those faces when you talk to her."

"No, I don't." Emma told him bluntly, trying not to sigh. "It's complicated, okay? It's difficult with grown ups sometimes. We used to be fighting each other, there's been a lot of bloodshed and problems. Now we have to work together. It takes some time to adjust."

"Who's Regina? I know she's the queen, but to _you_." Henry asked. He didn't look impressed by her last explanation. "Was she... you know," Henry caught Emma's eye, looking intently with his eyebrows raised slightly. He dropped his voice. " _Your_ _lady_."

"What?" Emma's head whipped around to stare down at him.

"I'm eleven, I'm not stupid." Henry said scathingly. And then, as if it was so obvious, "I know sometimes boys can like boys and girls can like girls. And I _know_ what people who love each other look like. I've read books."

Emma breathed in slowly, pretending her heart hadn't sped up against her chest. She let it calm down a minute. "Hold up, kid. I'm not talking about love. And she's not my lady."

"But she was." Henry gave her a look. "Wasn't she?"

Emma sighed. _Were we that obvious?_ She stopped, standing awkwardly on the cobblestones in front of him. Henry squinted up at her, sun glinting off his untidy brown hair. His eyes were so serious when he folded his arms she would have laughed, if she hadn't felt so much like crying. When had she started to feel like crying? She hadn't cried for years. The last time was when Regina pulled away – after that, Emma realised, nothing else was worth her tears. She pushed her hair back behind her ear, ignoring the growing lump in her throat. "I knew her when we were little, that's all." Emma swallowed. "I don't want to talk about it now."

"Oh." Henry's face fell, but Emma could see he understood. "So it's like the sad bit in the story."

"What?" Emma frowned, tapping her fingers anxiously on the pommel of the sword at her hip. She didn't like the sound of what was coming. But he was trying. In his earnest, eleven year old way, he was trying. It made her smile, however tight her chest still felt.

"It's like in the stories." Henry explained eagerly. "There's always a sad bit where the hero can't be with their true love but they do some noble deed and slay the villain and win them back! And then they get married and live happily ever after."

"Life isn't a story, kid." Emma sighed. "I'm no hero. And she's not my true love." His enthusiasm was touching, but she couldn't let him carry on. Not having a happy ending was bad, but giving someone false hope was the worst thing imaginable. She wasn't going to get her hopes up just to have them smashed again, she knew better than that. Hell, she'd made her peace with that. She loved Regina, she loved the memories. It still hurt when she saw her. But she could deal with that. "If anything, I'm just hoping we can be friends."

"But that's not how it works!" Henry pouted. "I'm sure if you just slayed a dragon –"

"Henry," Emma rounded on him, biting back the tears building thickly behind her ears. She crouched down to look him in the eyes, putting a hand on his shoulder. He was squinting unhappily at her in the harsh yellow sunlight, scuffing his toe along the cobbles. She drew in a breath. "There are some things that just aren't meant to be."

Henry was silent for a long time. "But she's staying while you work out the war? And you're going with her to Salmere when you need to."

"Because our countries are allies." Emma explained, rising sharply. "Because I'm a princess and she's a queen and we have a common enemy. Now come on. Lord Kennick had those books rebound. You wanted to go see them."

"I guess." Henry sighed heavily. "You're okay, right?"

"Course. Why wouldn't I be?" Emma forced a smile as she carried on across the courtyard.

A few days later, the Eastern Alliance officially declared war on Callendor, Ironhaven, and all of their allies.

The leaders of Ethervale and Seafort would have been told too, but they'd departed weeks ago. So when Emma called her next war council, the only change in line up was Regina, and the few men she'd thought to bring with her. That was enough to make everything seem almost absurdly different. The dynamic was foreign to her.

Emma stood anxiously over the faded maps, the letters strewn about, thoughts buzzing. Beyond the window, the sun had dipped half below the horizon, shadows severing the slanting bright light that fell across the table. The world had shifted. The woman whose troops they'd discussed how best to kill, just weeks ago in this same room, now stood across from them, frowning down over the papers in her hands.

Emma glanced low across at her, shifting on her feet. Regina had stopped pacing, thank god, but the concern and caution still etched on her face were unsettling. She had her hands on her hips, drumming her fingers. It shouldn't have been so distracting. But then again, neither should the table. _God, the table_. They had memories on that table.

"At this point, your majesties, there's no way to avoid battle without losing Fort Ren." Lord Donnel was saying, with a pained expression.

"So we've seen their station at Cassarick, and there have been a dozen different messages saying there's another thousand men at The Tear," Regina explained slowly, eyes never leaving the papers. Her brown eyes were hard, conflicted as only a leader's could be. "Which leaves a third portion of their army, at least nine hundred strong with archers anywhere from Eastwatch to Dourney."

"That can't be all of their combined force. There's more, they just don't want to show their cards yet." Emma added. She exhaled heavily, eyes scanning the fading painted lines of the maps.

"And neither do we." Regina met her gaze with a pointed look, moving suddenly around the edge of the table to lean over the map. Something lit up in her eyes. Before she even spoke, Emma felt a spark of anticipation in her stomach – she knew that look. Regina blinked, scanning the map. "We agree we have to meet them by Cassarick, by the fort, but nobody ever said from what direction." Emma glanced up, watching her speech grow more impassioned as the brunette straightened the curling map corners. "If we come from the north we lose any element of surprise. It's what they'll expect. But if we had only a small portion of our force meet them from the north, they're distracted. Meanwhile, we march the rest down here, along the causeway." Regina tapped her finger against the map. "Go around their camp, cross the river, and catch them from the south. They can't win an unexpected battle on two fronts."

Emma stared in wonder. _That's_ _genius_. Watching her mind work like that was amazing. A strange kind of pride curled up with the awe between her ribs. She always saw Regina this way, this true queen, and now the rest of the world saw that too – now Regina saw that herself... It felt almost like a victory. Emma tried to shake the thought away. She could feel eyes on her, men looking to their seasoned battle commander for approval. "It could work." She nodded, once, twice, moving closer to the table. "If we send someone well known to lead the northern host it'll draw them out too, provoke them into fighting. Ragnar Threll, maybe. That way they're vulnerable when the main party gets there."

"Who'd lead the larger host?" Sir Jonathan asked grimly, spark in his eyes. He was a new find, a steward's boy that had proved to have a wicked skill in battle, and a head for tactics. He'd been rising through the Callendor ranks almost absurdly quickly since the start of the war.

Emma paused. "Are you offering?"

He nodded. "Why not? I'm young but I'm certainly not green. I have experience in command. And they won't know me."

She nodded. "Yes. I'll give you your troops before the week ends, pick some other highborn men to go with you." Emma couldn't lie. She'd wanted to go, from the moment the words left Regina's lips. To lose herself in the fight once again, get back to her roots. To escape Regina and Henry and everything for a little while. But that was stupid. She had important things to do at home, and her lead would be exactly what the Alliance would expect. No, she had to stay. Emma looked up at Regina. "You should send someone to command as well. Share leadership with Jonathan."

"Yes," Regina agreed. "Alney Penrose should serve. I'll talk to him when we're done here."

"So it's settled, then?" Emma stared from man to man. "Sir Jonathan and Sir Alney will lead the charge south while Ragnar draws them out from the north." A collective murmur of assent rose from the room. "Then you may take your leave. I'll call later if I need to."

One by one, with nods and courtesies, the men of her council filtered from the room. Emma pretended to be deeply focused on the maps as she realised that one woman did nothing of the sort. Emma stepped back from the table, breathing in and gathering the strength to lift her head and bring her gaze to meet Regina's. She leaned back on her feet, smile curling at the corners her mouth for some bizarre reason. _We always seem to end up back here_ , Emma reflected, _right_ _back_ _together_.

"Look at you." Regina was smiling now, too, softly, with a gentleness in her eyes again. It was strange, twenty years of goodbyes and heartbreak, but somehow Emma felt like laughing. It was all too much. Twenty years and they were still opposite one another. "Didn't I tell you what a great queen you could be?"

Emma hooked her thumbs through her belt, daring a step forward. She shook her head slightly. "That queen thing, that's all you." She felt a small smile crawled across her face unbidden.

"But you're a leader." Regina countered placidly. Her voice was light and heavy all at once. "You're a damn good one, Emma."

"You're just too stubborn to say any different." Emma reminded her, but her bones were tinged with hope again. _Damn Regina, making me feel strong again. Every time._

"You know me too well." Regina's gaze rose to meet Emma's, rich with meaning. "You know I mean it."

The energy had shifted again. Emma would be more surprised if it didn't seem to do that every other hour. There was a tentative kind of pull in the air between them. Not like before; it couldn't be, Emma's heart was heavy enough as it is. She'd been shattered by her feelings for this woman too many times; another, and she doubted she could ever be put back together. But that friendship, the childlike connection that had kept her warm every winter until it didn't, it was almost trying to crawl back. Slipping uninvited into the cracks in their broken hearts. And Emma couldn't remember why she shouldn't let it.

They'd been around each other too much.

"Walk with me?" Emma heard her voice ask suddenly, lingering in the air. She breathed in the light. She knew she should regret it but she just didn't. Before she knew what she was doing, she was offering her arm and watching the fading sunlight wash over Regina's skin.

Regina blinked, gaze flickering from Emma's arm to her softening stare, shining dark eyes blasted with caution, apprehension. Her full lips were parted slightly, but they yielded no sound for a long time. She swallowed, nodded, dark hair brushing against the exposed skin of her neck. For a moment, she looked just like the little girl ruled by doubts and dreams, who'd taken Emma's hands and threaded daisies through her hair. It burrowed deep into Emma's chest. Regina nodded again, more surely this time. Tentatively, almost as if she was afraid – a foreign, bewildering emotion on her now – Regina stepped closer, soft footsteps and brushing skirts deafening. She laid her hand gently on Emma's arm. "Of course."

The warmth of her fingers burned through the cloth of Emma's shirt, sparkling across her skin. Emma swallowed hard, made herself breathe in and out. Her smile froze and melted away. And then she put one foot in front of another and walked. Her throat was constricting, but whether from sadness or joy she couldn't say. Maybe both. As she pushed through the door and turned the hallway, body surer of her destination than her mind, all Emma was aware of was how she could hear Regina breathing again.

Emma realised where she was heading before Regina did. Halfway down the last corridor Regina turned to her, face struck with surprise and thanks and old wounds opening. They were so close Emma could see the shadow of her eyelashes and the scar on her lip, impossibly faded. "We had it rebuilt a few years ago." Emma explained. _But there's more ghosts than ever now_.

"It's okay," Regina told her, as she passed through the doors for the first time in eighteen years. That small smile that had always turned Emma's tummy to butterflies crept over her face, just slightly, just for a moment. "I'm not afraid."

Emma smiled somehow as they walked the stairs of the unbroken tower together for the second time. When they broke out into the brisk sunset, a new strength washed over her with the early evening air. Regina drew in a sharp breath beside her, going slowly to rest her hand on a lichen-spotted crenellation, looking out over the world. The dark ends of her hair lifted in the breeze, as they had done a thousand years ago. Emma wanted to go stand beside her at the wall of the tower, but she couldn't bring herself to move just yet. The impending night had turned the sky lilac and endless, streaked with glowing salmon clouds, and Regina's silhouette didn't seem so threatening as the rest of the world.

"I kept my promise," Regina said suddenly, twisting to look back at her. "Everything I've done - I've never lied to you. I won't ever lie to you."

Emma swallowed, breathing deeply as she joined her, resting her arms on a stone parapet and staring out at the land before turning back to her. Regina was staring at her with a soft sort of intensity. "I know." She breathed in. "I kept mine too." Deafening silence settled on them like dust. "D'you ever think about before? When we were kids."

"I tried not to." Regina answered, staring out across the land. "But I did. Then I didn't. Then so much."

"Remember our first real ball? That was so awkward. I didn't have a clue what to do with feelings, but you found me and you danced with me anyway." Emma was saying, ghost of a smile aching, and then suddenly she couldn't stop. She'd said too much, and it had opened the cut – memories were bleeding out of her. "I always thought you were the most beautiful girl in the world. Guess you proved me right, huh?"

"We were absolutely ridiculous." Regina shook her head placidly. She met Emma's stare with soft meaning. "I always thought that was you."

"Might have done things differently if I'd known." She smiled briefly, fingers picking at the crumbling rock in front of her. "You remember that day on your estate, when the butterfly landed on your hand? And the first time you kissed me. The first time we –" She shook her head. It all seemed a thousand years ago. Like she was talking about something that happened in a dream, or to someone else. "It hurts, doesn't it." Emma heard herself saying. Phrased like a question, spoken like a eulogy.

"It does." Regina breathed in and out slowly, considering. "But pain reminds you you're alive. We were children. Now we're grown up." She turned to Emma. "I don't know what happens next."

"We learn to be around each other." Emma shrugged. "For the future of our countries. If it's not too painful, maybe... We learn to be friends again."

Regina smiled. "I'd like that."

Emma nodded, first slowly, then more sure. "Me too."

-0-

So they tried to move forward.

It was one of those rare times Regina was almost understanding of war. Wars made you move forward even if you thought you weren't ready. They forced you to be strong and smart and enough. They made you move on when you weren't sure you could. As the months dragged on, the conflict only intensified.  
The scouts, the raids, the tactical meetings – Regina got through them all with Emma at her side. They were siphoning strength off each other but it worked, somehow. They rode out together to shout their speeches, argued mercilessly over strategy and always came out better. They had different styles of warcraft and rule, but they evened each other out. Complemented each other. Commanding alongside Emma was like balancing on a scale. Too much and they'd tip over, they both knew it.

But it didn't matter.  
Together, they might just stand a chance.


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N ~** Intense emo chapter is intense and emo. There is a scene here, a dialogue that I have been looking forward to writing since I started this. Guess which. Also, I knowwww I've been swamping you in Emma POV but the next few chapters are pretty much all Regina, so.

 **16.**

Emma swilled her wine around her goblet, watching the dry red whirl against the metal.

Evening had chased away the days last lingering light: the only glow left was from fire. Candles flickered beside her bed and the table she sat at, torches burned in their cast iron scones, and in her hearth the fire roared, cracking and spitting every now and again. It washed the whole world in a warm orange glow, scarlet shapes and black shadows flickering over the stone walls. The wine had spread the heat into her chest and her mind, too. Emma leaned back in her carved wooden chair, stretching her neck over the back. She breathed out slowly, staring back into her wine, listening to the flames dance all around, and the fullness of the night. She didn't know why today's decision felt so different to all the others.

"Swan!"

She heard the shout before she heard her heavy oak door clang open, old hinges roaring their protest while iron binds clattered against the done wall. Emma sat up suddenly in her chair, straightening and pushing a lock of thick blonde hair from her burning face. She knew who it was and why before she even saw. _Knew it wouldn't be much longer._ A small, sad smirk flicked over her lips. "Regina,"

The brunette burst across the room, striding over to her and stopping abruptly when she saw Emma was seated. Her dark hair was loose, curling at the ends, shining in the firelight like her wide flashing eyes. Her jaw was tight, perfect brow furrowed in disbelief, vein in her forehead standing out. A slight flush tinted her cheeks, and the red dress she wore matched the night. The only light was given by fire, and Regina was burning too. Her anger was palpable.

"You're going to Glowerhaven, aren't you?" Regina demanded harshly. "You're going to lead the charge and put yourself at risk and you never thought to tell me!"

"Yeah," Emma turned her goblet absently in her hand, focusing intently on the gilt inlay of the metal. Her head was fuzzy. She'd slumped down in her chair again without realising it, slouched low with her hair falling in her eyes. Her breath had congealed in her lungs, sticking in her throat. She ran her finger over the metal of the cup.

"You complete _ass_ , Emma Swan!" Regina exclaimed, furious. Her dark eyes flashed with anger. The fire painted a her bare neck and the planes of her face with a shifting auburn glow, strange dark shadows. "Do you have any idea what you're going into? Battling for Salmere land. In _their_ territory. It's going to be a bloodbath and you didn't even tell me, you _idiot_!"

Emma set her goblet down on the table with a clink, wine sloshing. Carefully, she gripped the arms of the chair and pushed up to her feet, flicking her hair from her face as she gained her balance. The wine had warmed her bones and taken the sharp edges off her mind, but she was completely aware. Wide awake. The only things that were gone were her inhibitions. She sauntered closer slowly, close enough to smell the scent of her under her perfume, feel her breath, too close, really – Regina's eyes flickered up to hers, shining and uncertain, caught off guard as she stepped back an inch. Emma closed the distance again, cocked an eyebrow. "I don't see why you're so worked up. This is war and I'm a leader, what do you expect?"

Regina's brows drew together sharply, dark eyes flashing as she stepped forward to push Emma squarely in the chest. Emma didn't move. "I expect you to _tell me_ when you're about to dive _head first_ into _danger_!" Regina exclaimed, strained words punctuated by several more shoves, both hands slamming into Emma's chest.

Emma stared at her. Her small hands had done about as much as a puff of air, but the stormy look on her face would have been enough to make grown men quiver. She was glaring up at her, fuming, fire reflected in her eyes. Luckily, Emma was no man. She sighed, shifting on her feet. "I didn't think you needed special treatment. You'd have found out with the rest of the council anyway."

"But I'm not like the rest of the council, am I?" Regina's voice dropped, barely more than a whisper, gaze finding Emma's with hard purpose. She clenched her jaw, hands balled into fists at her sides, clearly still itching with fury.

"You tell me." Emma heard herself snap. She was advancing then, prowling slowly closer into Regina's personal space with every word, until she could smell apples and soap and home and see her breath falling from her lips. "Do you want to be different? To be special? Or is it just _too hard_? You can act however you want Regina but with you I always know. I know all about you. I know the things you don't even know about yourself, so why don't you tell me why you're so upset I didn't single you out!"

Regina didn't back down. Posture rigid, she met Emma's step, her clinging gaze. The brown stare she knew better than anything flickered down for a moment before coming back up defensively. "I'm coming with you."

"What?" It was Emma's turn to stare strangely now. That caught her off guard. "Where, to Glowerhaven?"

"Yes." Regina nodded, breathing in and raising her eyebrows for a moment, daring Emma to dispute her.

It was a dare Emma was willing to take. "Forgive me, your majesty, but you're no soldier." She reminded her harshly, leaning ever closer. Her eyes searched Regina's, ocean and earth. She could feel the ghost of a smirk etched into her frown. "What do you imagine you'd do?"

"Give speeches, see to commands, inspire my people, strike fear into the hearts of the Eastern Alliance." Regina listed, voice tinged with anger and indignance. "Those are my men, same as yours and I am their queen, same as you."

"You could get hurt." Emma wavered.

"So could you." Regina told her simply, directly enough for Emma to wonder if that was her reason. Her heart leapt a moment in her chest, and then Regina's stupid transparent guards went right up again, an immovable little smirk fixed to her pretty mouth. "If you don't get out of my way."

"Don't be stupid." Emma snapped. "You're a tiny little woman."

"I'm coming." Regina nodded, unflinching. Her voice had risen with the colour in her cheeks. "Whether you like it or not."

And Emma smiled bitterly, because she knew there was nothing she could do to stop her.

-0-

The day dawned crisp and bright with an energy in the air, as if the world was holding its breath. _Like it knows._

Regina shifted on the wide marble step, tugging the hem of her gloves. The courtyard rang with farewells, beneath limp banners and pale morning shadows but she would say no goodbyes today. Everyone foolish enough to care she'd left behind a long time ago, or were coming with her. Today they left for Salmere, for Glowerhaven, for battle. Her breath misted in the sharp air in front of her for a moment. Across the courtyard, Emma was bidding farewell to her family. Regina watched with a strange feeling sparking across her bones as she wrapped her brother into a fierce hug. Prince Neal was gripping her awkwardly; he was nineteen now, and taller than them both. Regina remembered when he was born, and she came to see him. Emma had stood where she stood now, and ran to hug her. She swallowed, staring as Emma released Neal, going in to hug her father more carefully around his newly healing wounds.

"Excuse me, Lady Regina?" A small, high voice chirped. Regina whipped around, scanning the child the voice belonged to. Small and pale beneath fine brown hair, he wore a hopeful smile too big for his face. _Emma's squire_. "Are you gonna ride in the front with me and Emma?"

"It's Queen Regina, actually," Regina said, feeling her brows furrow as she stared down at him. She breathed in, drawing her shoulders back up. "I have to ride in the front because I'm queen, that's how it works. I don't think I'll be close to you and the princess."

"Why not?" The boy's face had fallen, hazel eyes hard, almost pouting. His straight brown hair was lifting in the wind. "You're allies."

"That's not how it works." Regina told him bluntly. She stared out across the yard, watching Emma clasp hands with some of the new young soldiers they were taking with them. She couldn't hear what was being said, but Emma was laughing, blonde hair catching the light. "Emma doesn't want to see me right now."

"Sure she does!" The squire exclaimed, cheeks flushing pink. He was wearing a miniature version of a proper knight's garb. It looked like something Emma would have worn at his age. Regina sighed, stiffened. "She's your hero," He whined, as if it was so important. Something collapsed in her chest. "She just doesn't want you to get hurt."

Regina faltered, studying him. "What's your name, boy?"

"My name's Henry," He told her brightly. _Like Daddy,_ Regina thought, defences suddenly crumbling for this small gawky boy, _like Daddy._ She couldn't help the smile curving her lips.

-0-

The road to battle was never easy.

For weeks they had been riding hard, in the abrasive cold and relentless rain that slithered its icy fingers beneath the your clothes and wormed its way into every corner of the world - even the worn token of purple cloth she'd never stopped wearing over her heart was sodden in a few days. Morale was dripping off the men like raindrops off leaves. No, the road to battle was never easy. But somehow, Regina's presence made everything harder.

It would have been so much simpler if Emma could just get on with her days without even thinking of her, but she was _everywhere_. Meeting with her men, riding out with them, plotting tactical strategies by the fire with her commanders. Always windswept and regal, always stubborn and unrelenting and beautiful. Sending ravens from the column, taking inventories, and now, apparently, getting pally with Henry. (Emma loved him, but damn, her squire was a little traitor.)

"Kid, I don't think you and Regina becoming friends is the best idea," Emma tried to tell him, as she stood tying up their horses for the night, while their crude camp quickly rose up around them. Every night, the cook fires and pavilions seemed to go up quicker than the last. Of course, while they were on the move, there were only two true pavilions – hers, with the banner of Callendor, and Regina's, with that of Ironhaven.

"Why not?" Henry shrugged, pulling a face as he tugged at the toughened leather reins around his pony's neck. "She's nice. She gave me her magic bracelet to ward off bad luck."

"Regina can't do magic," Emma scoffed, slugging through the churned up mud to take the reins from him and tie them properly. He was her squire, not the other way around, but she couldn't help it sometimes.. "She hates it, she wouldn't. And anyway, there's no such thing as bad luck."

Henry glared at her. "Regina says there's anything you can believe in. She _said_." _Well, Regina also said she'd never hurt me_. Emma finished securing the pony's reins, turning to lead Henry back to the tent _. Regina says a lot of things._ "Why don't you ever talk about you and Regina when you were little?"

"There's not much to tell," Emma said, _apart from my all my hopes, dreams and every last desire._

"Then why don't you talk about it?" Henry pressed, as they wove through the lines of bedrolls and cook pots. Emma turned to stare at him. As evening descended on the world, the endless fields and pines towering in fierce regiments cast long black shadows across the earth. The rain had stopped for a few hours; its residue left everything sparkling. Beaded with water in the purple twilight, every blade of grass seemed carved from jade, every heavy branch dripped with an orchestra of leftover rain. Even the puddles were glossed over, shining brown beneath her worn leather boots. Her Regina, the sweet young girl of her memories, would have marvelled at the beauty of it all. This Regina, this smart and careful queen, pored over maps in her pavilion like any good leader. _Good leader._ Damn it, she was _brilliant_. Incredible, really. As if she was born for it.

"You want to hear about it? Fine." Emma sighed, turning to him. She leaned back against a tree, meeting his sideways gaze. She breathed in, and without thinking any more, let it all out. "We were five when we first met. She was a lesser princess of Xalvadarr then. I kissed her hand and got embarrassed about it after. I remember I used to count down the days until I'd see her next, I was always asking my parents when. I made her promise not to lie to me, and I promised the same. We grew up together. When I was thirteen, fourteen maybe, we were allowed to our first real ball. She looked beautiful, I had no idea what to do." A faint smile crossed her lips at the memory. "I was so awkward, but she found me and she danced with me anyway."

Her words had drowned her, washed out everything else. "When I was about seventeen, I went on my first scout with the knights. She came to see me off. She gave me a token, for luck, and a kiss." Emma breathed out slowly. It was almost as if she was releasing her memories, the younger versions of herself she'd kept chained inside her. "And when I got back, she ran to me and I took her in my arms and I didn't even care who was watching, or what they'd say because I was back with her. And she made everything better. She made me feel safe." She swallowed. "We had to keep it secret. Reasons bigger than us, things I don't want to talk about. Eventually her mother arranged for her to marry King George, who was king of Ironhaven then. So we ran away. Rode off in secret to find some woods witch. We wanted her to change our fates but... Looking back, I don't think fates can be changed. I think we were always meant to fall apart, so we could fall back together." Emma frowned. "They took her away and on my way back home I found you."

Henry stared up at her, hazel eyes wide and shining. There was a strange look written across his small face, something Emma couldn't put a name to. "You found me when you lost her." He said. "I didn't know. I didn't know."

A smile from the past was ghosting over Emma's face again. "What a pair we were. She was lost in thought and I was lost in her." She turned her smile to the ground, brow furrowing. _Does it ever get any less painful?_

"Emma..." Henry trailed of, unsure.

That snapped her back to herself. Emma sighed, breathing in the cold fresh air and pushing the hair back from her face. She blinked, glancing around the bustling camp. "Sorry." She swallowed. "I just don't think it's a good idea for you to spend so much time around her. Okay?" She waited for him to nod and mumble his _okay_ before she ruffled his hair. "Go on. Why don't you go see if Gale has any of those cheese tarts left?"

Emma stood outside her pavilion, watching him run off with a heavy feeling in her chest like memories. She should have known there'd be repercussions.

It was only a few hours later, but it felt like longer. Lingering lilac dusk had mottled, bruised into starless night, pervaded only by the glowing gems of fires, dotted about the camp and filling the air with the smell of smoke and cooking meat. The low buzz of a hundred conversations filled the still air. In her pavilion, Emma sat at her crude trestle table, watching the dripping white candle flicker and sway. She was trying to write a letter to her mother, giving commands in a similar camp far away, but words had deserted her. She'd used up too many earlier.

It was cold outside but the cloth of her tent kept all the heat of the candles and her skin confined, thick and pressing. Emma was beginning to think of settling down for the night, even though she knew she wouldn't be able to sleep. She'd been slumped barefoot, boots abandoned haphazardly on the floor somewhere, clutching a cup of wine in silence for too long. Henry had gone to sleep around one of the big fires long ago. Emma had gone and made sure he was alright, found him dead asleep. So she'd hastened back to her pavilion, because she knew someone else that had made a habit of checking up on the boy.

She sighed, about to drain her cup and lie down, when said someone burst through the flaps of her tent uninvited, and fuming.

Emma glanced up sharply, hurrying to her feet and putting down the cup. _We really need to stop meeting like this._ She let her eyes run over the woman in front of her, feeling the heat rise in her neck. Regina stood before her, hurt and angry. The candlelight softened all the hard edges of her expression and waltzed across her olive skin, bathed her in it's otherworldly glow. Her dark hair was curling around her shoulders, rumpled from being pinned up all day, the vein in her forehead stood out, the flames reflected in her shining eyes and her stance was accusatory. Her chest rose and fell with every heavy breath. "Emma," Regina breathed, perfect brow furrowing.

"Your majesty," Emma sighed, staring back at her, motionless as she drank in the sight of her. There wasn't enough wine in the world that could intoxicate her so much as the sight of this woman, this enigma of a woman who had been the sweet young girl who had been her lady, a thousand years ago.

"Don't play games with me now." Regina snapped, voice all hard edges and brittle undertones, shaking her head slightly. She was wearing her red dress again today, baring her smooth shoulders and clinging to her waist like Emma used to. She tightened her jaw. "You told Henry not to talk to me."

Emma let her gaze flicker back up to Regina's brown eyes, almost black in the firelight. The shadow of her dark eyelashes danced across her cheekbones in the candlelight. Emma swallowed hard, steadying her breath. "I just don't think it's a smart move right now."

"You're hiding behind that excuse." Regina told her. Her raised voice was starting to tremble. _God, but she's beautiful._ "Why?" She demanded. "Because you didn't want me here in the first place? Because you don't want me here? Do you think being without him is going to make me run home? Well, Emma, I'm stronger than that. My people, those men out there, they need me."

 _So do I._ Emma's thoughts, the ones she hadn't let herself think in so long, the one she'd spent months trying to quash down under layers of good judgement and sensibility were rising up into her throat, her mind, overpowering her, choking her. _I need you safe._ She'd tried to bury them. She didn't realise they were seeds. There was too much for her to say – how could she confine it all into words? She swallowed. Regina was staring at her so insistently, there was almost a desperation in her shining dark gaze. Emma shook her head briefly. "I know you better than that." Emma muttered, voice low and shaking with all the things she couldn't say.

Something in Regina's gaze shifted, determined fury burning away into something much worse, shining dark desperation, wounded and grasping. "Then _why_?" She strode toward Emma, low voice rising and breaking. Filled with so much. She wasn't demanding anymore, she was pleading, begging Emma to just let her in. That was so much worse. "Why can't you just let go, what are you so afraid of, Emma?" The seething mass of words unsaid and feelings unfelt was swelling, ripping through her. "Why are you so bitter that I'm here in this war fighting these battles with you, trying to help you?" She was breaking, cracking, her defences were tearing apart. "Why can't you just move on with your life?"

"Because I never stopped loving you!" Emma heard her shout shattering in the thick air as she whirled to face her.

Regina stepped back, wide dark eyes blasted apart with a thousand different emotions. They shone with tears. Her full lips were parted slightly, and Emma was close enough to see her chest rise and fall with her breathing, the slight twist of her brow. "When..." Regina faltered. "When did you start?"

Emma's every cell collapsed into her exhale. She took a moment to soften, letting her feelings bear her up. She closed her mouth and shook her head slightly, green eyes finding Regina's. "I was five years old. And the coloured light from the window lit you up like a sign. Like there was some god, showing me, telling me, _there she is._ That stayed with me, Regina. You stayed with me."

Regina stared at her, motionless except the soft breath falling from her lips and Emma thought it was sad, that after everything they'd been through she hadn't realised, just because she'd never said it. She stared at her for a long time, and Emma stared back, relieved of every wall and defence. They stood a mere metre apart, breathing out of time, with the dust-filled air between them finally released of all its weight. Her eyes were endless, rich brown and infinite.

They stayed like that for a long time, until simply, wordlessly, Regina walked forwards with her beautiful face still blasted apart, took Emma's face in her hands and let her eyes fall closed as she pressed her lips up against hers. Emma's chest caved in. Her lips were full and sweet as they always had been. They lingered there, Emma's eyes shut tight, brow furrowed, torn by the wonderful pain of coming home.

When at last they parted, Emma's hand came up to cover Regina's, seeking her warmth and wrapping her fingers around hers, their foreheads touching. She let her eyes flicker open, searching, watching Regina's sharp intake of breath. Words that had been bouncing around her mind for week, words like _temporary truce_ and _until we defeat our common foe_ could no longer touch them. "'Gina," Emma sighed, thumb brushing over Regina's silky skin. "This is a bad idea."

"I don't care." Regina's wide dark eyes, full of tears and hope, sought hers. Her voice was sure and steady. "Do you?"

Emma swallowed the lump in her throat and maybe later it would rot in her stomach but for now she had a life's worth of dreams to give in to. She smiled, and sighed, and the broken pieces of her heart fell back together as she replied the same way Regina had, all those years ago. "Not at all."

So she let her arm wrap tight around Regina's waist once again, pulling her body firmly against hers. Everywhere they touched Emma's skin woke up, nerves rippling back to life. She was warm and soft and her hair smelled of apples and rain and the best days of her life. Regina's fingers trailed over her face, leaving tingling marks where they touched. Emma ducked her head to kiss her again, moving her mouth gently over Regina's. Something heavy and warm stirred in her stomach. She shivered, cracks in her heart closing up as she held Regina close, unafraid and unashamed, and let herself come home.

Tomorrow could wait.


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N ~** Fuck, are we really on chapter seventeen already? The next couple of chapters are mostly Regina POV, but there's been a lot of Emma POV lately so it should balance out. Also, I apologise for the ending of this chapter. Y'all will get your answers next week.

 **17**

The Callendor-Ironhaven host arrived at Glowerhaven with cold grey dawn.

Regina wrapped her stiff gloved fingers around her horse's reins and urged him on, head raised against the tearing wind that tossed her dark hair about her face. The dwindling troops already stationed here were rousing to greet their new men. All around, the pale green grass was crusted with frost that sparkled dully in the glaring white sunlight. The breath found her lungs cold, and left like mist. Around her, the warm rising energy of the other mounted lords and battle commanders seeped through her skin. Beside her, grasping the leather reins of her great white warhorse, Emma Swan was breathing out of time.

Her blonde hair streamed thick and pale down the back of her mail shirt, her cheeks and nose were flushed red with cold, and her breath fogged up in front of her. The sword bumping at her hip was no longer just for show. Regina glanced over at her with a tight feeling in her chest, pride and pain all mixed up as one. Emma looked hard, and strong, and beautiful in her all too human way. Gone was the little girl with the gap-toothed grin and wooden sword. Regina looked out across their army, jaw tightening.

Threadbare banners danced and cracked in the wind above them, splashes of colour against the bile coloured sky. Trees tore at the endless clouds with sickly black branches, and the smoke of their first fires was beginning to curl up into the air. A banner of its own. There was an energy in the air, crackling and sparking, heavy and light all at once. A thousand people's anticipation. As if the world was holding its breath. Regina swallowed. It made it all unnervingly real.

They'd been travelling to war, but the past few days were like something out of a dream. Everything was different now, now Emma loved her, now Emma had _always_ loved her. The world had shifted with Regina's knotted up insides. She woke warm and alive beside her again every morning, and fell asleep to a safe place without nightmares every night. She spoke what she felt, when she could – told Emma everything, including her magic. And Emma wasn't angry, or afraid. She accepted it, and her.

Colours were brighter. Songs were louder. Air was sharper and sunlight warmed her skin more than it ever had. Because Emma loved her. Emma had _always_ loved her. And suddenly everything she'd ever thought about herself changed, suddenly she was good and right and worth it and enough like she never had been. Suddenly, Regina was fiercely human, in a way she never had been before.

They murmured it like a prayer every night, before they went to sleep. Lost together in a pavilion halfway across the country, _I love you. I love you. I love you._ They said it until it no longer sounded like words. Maybe if they said it enough, it would chase away all the bad things.

Regina shook the thought away, urging her horse on beside Emma's. The men were assembling now; Emma would want to say a few words. The steady thunder of their horses hooves tearing the hard packed dirt was louder than her heartbeat. When the soldiers had gathered, she and Emma rode out to face them together.

"Warriors of Callendor and Ironhaven, men of Seafort and Ethervale!" Emma shouted, voice rough and harsh, contending with the weather. The winds had picked up as the neared the sea; Glowerhaven was a trading town, all ports and cliffs and the smell of salt in the frigid air. Now they roared and whistled through the gaps in the jostling roots of the leafless tress, like mournful ghosts. Regina swallowed, grasp tightening on her horse's reins. She had to fight to keep the frown from her stony expression as she looked out into the faces if these men, that may not survive tomorrow. "I hope you are well. But if you are not, I hope you find the strength to go on anyway. To find the belief that someday you will be." Emma grimaced, cheeks flushed with cold. Her horse whickered, breath fogging up. "Because we are going to need every man here if we hope to defeat the Alliance! Those are brave men waiting to kill us. Those are strong men, waiting to burn our homes and leave our children orphans. But we will do the only thing we have ever done in times as dark as these. We fight! We make a stand, for our country, for our land, for our dirt and grass and trees. We fight for our sons and daughters, so they will never have to face days like these. We fight for our children's tomorrows. We fight for each other, our friends, our blood." Emma didn't have to raise her voice anymore. She was already louder than the earth.

"We fight for the people that we love. For our husbands and wives. For the men – for the women we can't live without." Emma swallowed, and shot a heavy glance back at Regina. Regina breathed in sharply, watching those green eyes with a weight in her stomach she would never shake. Emma tore her gaze away, back to her men, and raised her voice once more. "We fight for ourselves, and the hearts in us that refuse to stop beating!"

Her words hung in the air for a moment like their breath before the wind snatched them up and tossed them away. Regina shifted on her horse, jaw tightening.

As they turned and rode away, back to the pavilion, back to their next tactical meeting, Regina drew closer to Emma. The blonde didn't look at her, stoic and resolute on her horse, but she knew she was listening. "Didn't I tell you that you could be this?" Regina told her, hint of pride crawling into her voice.

"Be what?" Emma asked, voice soft and heavy, eyes trained on the sunlit horizon. Her blonde hair was blowing back from her hard face in the wind.

Regina softened her voice, heart speeding up against her ribs. She knew how hard it was for Emma to accept the thought if her men dying for her. "A leader. In the true sense of the word." She released the reins with one hand, to brush Emma's shoulder for a moment. Regina caught her gaze. "Someone who can inspire your people, bring out the best in them. Someone they can pour their hopes and dreams into."

Emma scoffed. "Regina, I don't –"

"It doesn't matter." Regina told her firmly, as they rode on. "You are. And in my eyes, you always have been."

It wasn't until that night, as the last traces of daylight slipped past the horizon, and they were safe and alone together in the glowing warmth of Emma's pavilion that she finally cleared it up. The tent basked in the soft, smudged yellow light of the candles – a gentle light that erased all the hard edges and angles from the world and washed her skin in dancing warmth. She and Emma were sat together on the thick furs of Emma's makeshift bed, sharing a cup of wine, when she brought it up. "Do you really doubt yourself so much?" Regina heard herself saying, gaze caught on Emma's. She searched those startled sea green eyes. They were close enough for her to feel the warmth of Emma's breath on her skin, see her brow furrow.

Emma's tongue darted out to wet her lips for a second, blinking. She swallowed, breathed in. "Not when I'm with you."

Regina stared at her. She twisted to put the half-empty cup down safely, and then turned back to Emma with her chest aching. She leaned in to press her lips to hers, eyes fluttering shut. Her veins shivered still; she would never get used to this. Her blood was warm; Emma's lips tasted of the wine, and she could feel her pulse jump in her cheek. When her hand, warm and calloused and gentle, came to cup her cheek, Regina's whole body seemed to relax, like she was coming home. After all, Emma's arms were the only real home she'd ever known. She drew back an inch smiling.

Emma was staring at her strangely. Her mouth was twisted into a smile but her shining eyes were full of a hundred different emotions, there was a weight to her gaze. Her thumb reached out to caress Regina's cheek, almost sadly. "I love you," Emma told her slowly, as if to savour the words, voice heavy, strained, almost grave.

Regina reached up to lay her hand over Emma's on her face. She breathed in the strength to speak. "And I love you, but..." She swallowed, searching her green stare. "Emma, _please_ don't say it like it's the last time."

She could see tears gathering in Emma's eyes now as she shook her head slightly, swallowed, breathed in slowly. "'Gina." Her fingers trailed over Regina's skin. "We just have to try and accept that it could be." She took a shaky breath, faltered. "I'm going to war. Any day now, I'm going into battle. You know –"

"You are _not_ dying on me now, Emma Swan," Regina heard her rising voice shaking. "Not after everything we've been through, I won't let you, not when I just got you back –"

"Hey, _hey_ ," Emma's free hand sought Regina's, wrapping her fingers tightly around it. Her green eyes darted over her, as if she was trying to decide something. She brought Regina's hand to her lips then, lingering for a moment. Her lips were warm and her touch was firm and gentle and her breath was steady against her skin. Regina's heart was shivering suddenly. "I have no intention of dying out there, believe me. But even if we win –"

"No." Regina cut her off firmly, jaw tightening, brow furrowing. She shook her head, not trusting herself to say any more. " _No_."

A small sad smile curled across Emma's lips. "Okay," She murmured, sliding a warm, protective arm around Regina's shoulders and pulling her close. Regina gritted her teeth and leaned into her touch, forcing herself not to cry. She wasn't that weak, stupid little girl with those stupid bruises anymore – but somehow Emma always seemed to melt her defences away. She bit her lip, leaning to rest her forehead against the other woman's. Emma sighed. "How'd we get here, hmm?"

And Regina almost smiled, because she had no answer.

The next day, the world rang with long mournful cry of the battle horns.

Regina was out in the fields when it happened. That was usually more Emma's place; she led her people from amongst them. Regina preferred the more distanced kind of rule. Until she'd returned to Emma it was the only kind she'd ever known. But no matter – she needed these people to trust her, and that couldn't happen if she spent the whole time shut away, a cold stranger giving orders. So she was walking over the frost-crusted grass, watching twilight descend quickly over the world, when the low, drawn out call of the horn split through the evening air.

In an instant, everything turned to chaos around her. And as she always had when the chaos became too much, Regina ran to Emma.

It took a while to reach her pavilion, snapping commands and worming through the crowd of men clamouring to don their armour or find their squires. When at last she broke into the soft warm silence of Emma's tent, only then did Regina let her defences crack. The tent was like a bubble, somewhere quiet and candlelit, far away from the rest of the world. Emma was standing in the centre, tugging at the knotted straps of her breastplate like she had a thousand years ago. Her head was bowed solemnly, loose blonde hair falling in tangled curls down her back. The soft yellow waltz of the candlelight made it glow, and reflected its flames in the princess' armour. Regina couldn't see her face.

The night was thick and warm, laden with the crackling spark of impending something; raw energy shooting through the stifling, heavy air. It was as if the world knew how important tonight would be. Wordlessly, Regina walked over to Emma until she could see the stray hairs clinging to her grave face, and smell the leather and cinnamon and vanilla that meant home. Weight growing in her chest, she took the straps gently from Emma's strained hands.

Emma released a sharp, shaky breath, staring up at the canvas roof of the tent. Regina blinked back her own tears, clenching her teeth and focusing resolutely on buckling the breastplate straps around her shoulder. Her dark hair was falling in her face as she worked but it didn't matter. That was all she needed to concentrate on. Just the tough leather in her hands. Sometimes her wrist brushed Emma's back, her fingers found mail and leather, and Regina could feel the warmth of her and her breath, barely inches away. Regina tightened her jaw with one final tug on the leather. She dropped it, secured. _There. All done._

Beside her, Emma sighed heavily. Shaking her head slightly, she breathed carefully in and out fir a long time before speaking. "Did you have to do that?" It sounded like she was trying to make it a joke, but her voice was too heavy.

Regina nodded and cleared her throat but no words came. Her heart suddenly felt very small and tight in her chest, wrapped around too much feeling. "Tradition," She managed at last. She sounded nothing like herself.

Finally, Emma brought herself to look sideways at her, green eyes burrowing deep into Regina's. They were weighted with more meaning than any words could bear, and in them the flames of the candles danced and shone. Her blonde hair was jumbled around her pale face. Bathed in the soft yellow glow, she had never looked more otherworldly, nor more human. Regina swallowed hard, moving around in front of Emma to take the wrist of her gauntlet between her fingers, working silently at the fastenings. She kept her head bowed beneath her dark hair. Looking at Emma's face right now was too hard.

So she carried on in silence, feeling Emma's heartfelt gaze clinging to her as she worked her way around the taller woman's body, fitting the pieces of plate to her with a hazy sort of muscle memory. Regina might not be able to protect her once the fighting started, but she could make sure she was protected now. The silence was deafening, settling over them like dust in the heavy air. Eventually, Emma cleared her throat and spoke softly. "You forgot something." Regina glanced up at her and wished she hadn't. The blonde nodded behind her. "On the table."

Regina turned away, towards the crude travel trestle table. Her footsteps seemed to scream in the overwhelming, smothering quiet. She stopped short when she saw. Something buried deep in her chest disintegrated; Regina stared, helpless against the tears that gathered thickly behind her eyes. When she tried to speak she found the words had left her, evaporated. She faltered. Swallowing hard around the ball of words in her dry throat, Regina forced herself to step closer and pick it up. The fabric was worn, threadbare under her skin and she ran her fingers over it. It was _here_. She bit her lip to keep from smiling and crying at the same time, taking in every uneven stitch. Every misshapen line. She spun on her heels, allowing their magnetic heartbeats to pull her closer to Emma again. Close enough to see her light brown eyelashes, and feel the warmth of her breath on her skin. The candlelight was turning her hair into a halo.

"You kept it," Regina heard her tiny voice state. Her aching gaze flickered up to Emma's and didn't let go. "After all this time, you kept it."

A small, bittersweet smile crossed Emma's lips. "'Course I did." Her eyes were soft and pained, and suddenly they were shining with tears that made Regina's want to fall even more. Emma swallowed. "It was you."

Regina clenched her jaw, brow furrowed hard as she tried to be strong like they both needed to be while she reached up, and tucked her old token over Emma's heart. It seemed like a million years ago, a frightened girl had pressed it into the hands of an uncertain princess. Like something that had happened in a story, a dream or to somebody else. Emma looked at her, and it also seemed like yesterday. That was the scariest part – when she was with Emma, all her versions and ghosts and facades, all the different parts of herself seemed to jumble up into one. She'd spent so long thinking she was nothing, when maybe she had been everything all along. Maybe they both had.

"Emma," Regina breathed, searching pained green eyes for a hope, a promise, anything. Her throat was tight, the world was warm and the pale yellow of sunlight in spring, and Emma was so close and already a thousand miles away.

She leaned in at the same time as Emma, hands finding the hard metal plate on her forearms as her eyes fluttered shut, their lips met, and her heart collapsed. Regina held her breath, clutching Emma's arms, lingering against the soft warmth of her lips. Everywhere they touched radiated heat, soft spreading warmth that seeped through her bones. Her eyelashes were brushing against Emma's cheeks. And just as it had all those years ago, time seemed to stop and close up around them, preserving them like petals between the pages of years and heartbreak, and there was nothing but their skin touching and their breath caught up in the moment.

Somewhere, back where minutes moved and pooled into hours like a tide, feet were churning up black dirt, and swords were sliding from scabbards to meet the cool night air. Somewhere, kingdoms raged and horses whickered and men clung to their shields in fear. None of it reached their bubble. Here there was no queen, no regency, no Ironhaven. Here there was no leader, no responsibility, no Callendor. Here there was nothing but blood and veins and meat and muscle and two hearts beating in time, tied together by a mess of thoughts and fears. Here was the place they understood. Here, perhaps, was home.

Regina drew back first. She couldn't bring herself to move far, nose still brushing Emma's. The lump in her throat was starting to unravel into tears. She gasped sharply, forcing herself to be strong. When she spoke, her voice was little more than a shattering whisper. "Come back to me,"

And Emma brushed her dark hair back from her face, with a heavier look than she'd had the first time she answered. A sad smile curled at her mouth, fingers lingering. "Always have."

They left the tent with their heads up and tears dried – they'd had their moment to as humans. Now it was time for the two of them to be queens.

Outside, the night was chilly and starless, and the inky sky rang with the clangour of a thousand men sheathing weapons, giving and taking orders, stamping out fires' still glowing embers, running to their positions. Regina breathed in the sharp night air, striding purposefully across the grass with her posture rigid. "Ready my horse." She ordered a passing boy. She'd stay put from her vantage point to give commands unless they needed her. If things got too bad she'd call on her magic. "Have him brought to the second hill, I'll need him. You – I want thirty men with me down there, Ironhaven and Callendor. Armed."

"Perwyn – hey!" Emma called, voice strong and rough in the cold beside her. "Go with Queen Regina. You too, Haven. You _remember_ what I said. No matter what, you remember."

The two men hurried to follow Regina at Emma's behest. It sparked something warm in her chest, that Emma would grant her these hand picked soldiers she obviously knew and trusted. When somebody came rushing up to Regina across the grass leading her horse, while Emma was shouting commands for her men to assume their stances, she knew it was time for them to part. They'd planned to attack the Eastern Alliance from the north, on their own twining beach. With the sea to one side, and the cliffs and hills to the other, the army would be effectively penned in.

Regina took her horse's reins from the page, twisting to stare back at Emma before she mounted. The courser's neck was warm beneath her fingers. Emma was breathing mist in the night, moonlight flashing off her metal plate, turning her to silver and sharp edges. Through the chaos, she caught her eye and they exchanged a nod. Then Regina swung herself up onto the horse's back, and made herself stare forward.

By the time she had gathered her men and made her way down the rocky path to her vantage point atop the hill, the fighting was in full swing. Regina reined up sharply, craning to catch a glimpse. Fires burned all across the cliffs, and sprouted up across the beach below where the clifftop Callendor archers had shot flaming arrows. Below, spread out across the beach beside the heaving black sea, was war. Moonlight glancing off screaming swords and steel, the clang of metal on metal, grunts of exertion, anguish, the last shouts of dying men. Regina's stiff fingers tightened around the reins. Her heart pounded against her ribs, blood hot and furious in her veins. Every muscle was tensed, breath gone. Years ago, when she thought of leaders and battle, she never understood how they could stand it. How anybody could bear watching their friends fight and kill and die under their orders. Now she understood. You got through it because you _had_ to.

There was no other choice.

Breathless, she searched the battlefield, trying to catch a glimpse of blonde hair and the Callendor sigil. No use. _No use, damn it._ Without thinking, Regina climbed down off her horse, dropping to her feet in the long sandy grass, ignoring the protests of the thirty men surrounding her. Instinctively, her hand came up in the air. She breathed in slowly, furrowed her brow, reaching for the magic that was so easy now, coiled ready and waiting, always, beneath her skin. In seconds, the magic had spread out in front of her, giving her a close up, almost, in the action.

Several of the men, particularly the Callendor strangers, gasped, muttered. Regina wasn't aware of any of it. Because she'd shown herself exactly what she intended. Projected onto the air in front of her was Emma. Boots tearing at the dark sand, face flushed and contorted with exertion, blonde hair clinging to the sweat on her skin. Regina's heart caught in her throat. She was moving like nothing human, spinning and slashing and parrying, sword swinging to clash with others, holding them off. Regina's hand found her stomach, hair lifting in the wind, staring intently.

She stayed like that for hours, though it didn't seem like it. Her every cell was on edge – she can't have been breathing – as she watched, unable to do anything. Watched as men crumpled and blood blossomed like black flowers over the sand, moonlight shining on the sea and the bloody sword of the woman she loved. Regina watched the battle turn in their favour, and then against them, and then back to their favour once again. She watched Emma hack and cut and kill. And then, she watched her crumple to the sand as the Seafort spear stabbed through her stomach.

Regina heard the cry, long and agonized, tear through the night. She heard the person screaming. Vaguely, she was aware it was her. _No no no no no no no no no._ She scrambled to life, image of the battle evaporating. She was still screaming, she realized, as she lunged for the path down to the beach – and then she couldn't move.

There were arms around her, holding her back, wrapped tightly. She couldn't go, she couldn't get to Emma, Emma. Something stiff and cold was around her wrist. "No!" Regina was shouting, as she fought and squirmed and kicked, thrashing wildly against them. Or maybe she wasn't, because nobody replied. She was sobbing then, her lungs were freezing and cracking and shattering in on themselves, jagged shards cutting her boiling insides. She tried to find the magic, to make fire, anything, but it wasn't working. "No!" She was clawing at their arms, fighting as hard as she could but these were big men, men who had tried their whole lives. _Emma's men_ , she realized suddenly, kicking furiously, screaming, _the ones she told to go with me._ "Let me go! Get your hands off me, let me go, let me –"

"We can't, your majesty," One of them, Perwyn something, she didn't care, she didn't care about anything, shouted, voice raised against her futile hysteria. His arms tightened fiercely around her, forcing her still. "We've been given orders. She said, she _ordered_ us." Regina frowned, trying to drive her elbows back against him. It didn't make sense, nothing made sense and Emma, _Emma_ , she just needed to go, she had to go. "Emma ordered us, your majesty," He shouted. "We're not allowed to let you anywhere near the battlefield until the danger's over." The knight gasped. "She made sure of that."

"No, no, no," Regina heard someone repeating over and over in a shattering parody of her voice, thick and choked and wild. She shook her head fiercely, like that could make it any less true. "No, no, no, _no_." She gasped for air, suddenly breaking with her heart. Without Emma's men holding her up she would have fallen. "No!" The tears were streaming, thick and hot, down her face, wracking her, bearing her. It ripped through her, she was shaking with it. Through her blurry vision, Regina stared at the bloodstained beach, nails digging into her palms as she tried her best to ride out the pain.


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N** Okay, so the last part of this might be confusing. I understand. You could say it was... intentional. And it will be explained, promise. TW for blood/injury detail.

 **18**.

When at last dawn broke over a field of dead men, Regina was shaking on the ground, grasping at the jagged edges of rocks to keep breathing. A lilac blush crawled across the world, tinging the clouds salmon pink, sending streaks of flame and sunlight over the horizon, where the ocean nestled up against the sky. As the sun reared its head, a golden glow fell over the land. The warmth of it of her skin warmed Regina back to life.

 _Morning_. She scrambled upright, raising her head up to beach, squinting in the light. _It's_ _morning_. Regina hurried to her feet, heart hammering frantically in her chest, dress tangling around her legs. She gasped for breath, lungs filling up as she realised that the hardest night of her life was over. Below, the beach spread out, speckled scarlet. Broken bodies in black armour lay in the sand. They'd won the battle, but it didn't matter if she'd lost the only thing she'd ever needed since she was five years old.

Regina ran. She could hear some of the men jogging after her. The wind was tearing at her face and her hair, the path was uneven and rocky under her feet, her chest was heaving with her ragged breaths, she was crying now too, but she didn't care. It meant nothing, nothing, only one thing ever had. She stumbled to a halt in the sand, staring frantically, searching with her heart pounding out a mad tattoo against her ribs. Emma, Emma, she needed to find – "Emma!"

And there she was. Crumpled and bloodied, a mop of yellow hair matted with sand. Regina's heart dropped through her insides like lead through water. She didn't remember running to her, but she must have done, because the next thing she knew she was falling to her knees in the damp clinging sand, shaking her head and hurriedly pushing Emma's hair from her face. Wrong, it was all wrong. She looked so small, so inconsequential.

"Hey, hey, Emma," Regina heard herself saying, voice thick and high with tears. She ran her fingers over the cold clammy skin of the other woman's face, brushing away the crusted blood and sand that was so wrong, trying to will the warmth back into her. Vision blurred, Regina dug her hand beneath Emma's shoulder, trying to hold back her tears as she pulled her up, trying to rest her head against her. "Emma, I'm here. It's okay. You did it, we won."

The ocean breathed in an out, the lullaby of the waves filling the morning air. Sunlight broke over the horizon, a riot of tangerine and buttercup, flooding over the sea and fanning its rays across the beach. It turned Emma's hair to gold, like it always had. Regina could feel the tears running down her face then, hot and sticky. "Emma," She repeated, tremulous. The shadows of their men gathered at a respectful distance were falling over them. Regina swallowed hard. "Come on Emma, don't you dare leave me now." She ran an unstable hand through her hair. No, Regina's brow furrowed, heart raced. No. She grasped her shoulders, shaking once, twice. "Don't you dare leave me!" She could hear her voice rising against the wind and the rush of the sea. "Come on, Emma, you're not done yet! Come back to me, come back to me," The tears were falling again, thick and steady. "You said you'd come back to me, you promised not to lie, you promised me..." The wind teased Emma's hair across her motionless face. It was always falling in her eyes, even when she was a little girl. Regina breathed in sharply, digging a fist into the sand. Her tears were dropping onto Emma's armour. Her throat was raw, she was shaking. "You promised you'd come back to me, you idiot! You stupid, perfect, beautiful, brave, wonderful idiot, you promised, you promised me..."

Regina sank back on her knees in the damp scratchy sand, overcome. She curled her fingers tightly around the hard edges of Emma's armour, gripping until the metal cut into her skin and she could anchor herself to the physical pain. The steady rush of the ocean was like a lullaby. The wind tossed handfuls of dark hair across her face. The strands were sticking to her tears. Her heart shook as she held her limp body tighter, clinging on because that's what she'd always done. For than twenty years, she'd clung to Emma, her tether, her rock in the storm. Only now – _now_ – Regina choked on her tears, gently brushing a strand of blonde hair from her face. She squeezed her aching eyes shut, feeling herself break apart.

"Well, you know what the say," A tiny, rough voice choked from the sand. "Never trust a princess in armour."

"Emma!" Regina stared. Emma was still lying there, practically motionless, but her head was moving slightly, her chest rising and falling raggedly. Half unconscious, covered in her own blood, but alive. Her eyes were open – god, her eyes, those beautiful green eyes she knew so much better than her own, red rimmed, eyelashes matted. Her heart leapt in her chest. Without thinking, Regina grabbed Emma's face in her hands, leaning down to kiss her. A fresh flood of tears were falling from her closed eyes. She pulled back, bubble of hysteria rising in her chest. Half dead, and still making jokes. "Emma, you stupid, you stupid..."

"I have my merits – Ah," Emma winced suddenly, pale face contorting in pain. A thin sheen of sweat glistened on her skin. She was staring up at Regina with those heavy green eyes, hair tangled with sand, armour spattered with congealing blood. She must have seen the raging concern etched across Regina's face, because the smallest, weakest smile pricked at the corners of her mouth, and she made a noise that was part laugh but part cough and part cry. "Why don't you – give me another kiss and I'll be alright –" She cut herself off, chest heaving in a fit of violent, ragged coughs.

Regina tried to transport them back to camp, but instead of sparkling magic she found only a cold block. The cuff on her wrist – _damn_ _it_. Damn them all. Damn Emma Swan. She twisted her head back at the soldiers, frantic, chest tight. "Take it off!" She ordered, voice loud and shattered. They were staring at her, all these different men with the same pity in their eyes. "Take this thing off me!" Regina commanded, louder.

Several men hurried forward, but it only took one to slide the ugly thing off of her. She focused, searched, and grasped Emma tightly as the purple smoke surrounded them. When it dissipated, they were back up at the camp, in the crude canvas tent they'd erected for a makeshift hospital. People were staring, injured men and their physicians both, at the sudden arrival of a bloodied princess in the middle of the room. Regina stared around at them, eyes flashing wildly. "Help me," She ordered.

Two men rushed over, bewildered, to lift their leader onto one of the makeshift beds, hacked from empty carts. The healers flocked anxiously, but Regina scowled and urged them all back. Thankfully they had the sense to obey. "Right. Let's get you fixed." Regina managed, more to herself than to Emma. The princess was swimming in and out of consciousness, head moving on the pillow. Regina's fingers flew to unfasten the dented plate and mail, letting the armour fall away. When she finally kicked aside the ringmail shirt, her breath caught in her throat. Emma's white linen shirt was soaked, almost black with blood, and still damp to touch. Regina stared.

Emma craned her head slightly, grimacing. She flopped back down with a strained and shaking sigh. "How bad is it?" Her voice was like sandpaper.

"Nothing I can't handle. Go to sleep." Regina ordered, laying her palms across the russet ruin of Emma's stomach. She breathed in slowly, letting her eyes fall closed. This would take a lot. She summoned the magic, reaching for it, letting it wash through her. Spill from her fingertips, soak into Emma's skin, wounds. Eventually, she dropped it, scrambling to lift the bloody remains of her shirt to assess her work. Regina choked on her breath. Black blood shone, new, still pulsing dully from the mess of her stomach. A frown crept over her face, icy fear slithering down her spine and seizing her heart. _It_ _didn't_ _work_. _Why_ _didn't_ _it_ _work?_ Regina pushed her fear away, closing her eyes tight again and sending more magic over Emma's shredded skin. She opened them with a breath. Nothing happened. _Why isn't it working?_

And then it hit her.

Memories of Rumplestiltskin, calling her stupid and explaining the balance of nature to her as he wandered her room, absently running his scaly fingers over her things. Regina's heart plummeted and picked up speed at once. Her bones turned to dust with her sigh. _No_.

"What is it?" Emma managed, wincing and gritting her teeth, brow knitted intensely as she tried to ride out whatever pain was tearing through her. Her knuckles had turned white as snow.

"It's not working." Regina heard her voice say, more to herself than anyone else. "It's not working because magic can't bring someone back from the dead when they're already too far gone." She stopped short. Her searing mind was racing, searching all her memories, all her years under the Dark One for _something_. Helpless, again. _I can't do anything, I can't_ – unless. _Unless_. Before she could think better of it, Regina had opened her mouth and she was speaking quickly again. "There's a ritual. I can do it with my magic. Tonight. As soon as the moon's up."

"What do I do?" Emma asked, somehow.

Regina stared at her. She'd never been one for religion but right now she was sure her every breath was prayer. Her heart was beating psalms. "Try to stay alive 'til then."

It was the longest day of her life. While healers fussed with water and linen, packings and poultices, Regina sat clutching Emma's hand as if her life depended on it (it always had) and staring intently at her while she slept and bled through her bandages. All around, the hospital tent buzzed with the injured, a combined fever filling the place with its cloying heat. You couldn't look anywhere without seeing red. When morning had eased into what the fleeting visitors told her was a beautiful, sunlit day, Emma Swan had another visitor, of the smaller kind.

Regina heard Henry creep in quietly to stand behind her, felt his wide hazel stare join hers of Emma's unconscious face. They stayed like that for a while, just looking, in companionable silence. Emma didn't even look like Emma now. She wore Emma's face, but without the bright eyes and twisting grins, without shaking her hair back or wetting her chapped lips, without her arms folding and her laugh... She wasn't fully here. That was evident. She looked too small, too human. To pale and empty and weak. Her Emma was like some legend, brimming with life. Always laughing. Always trying to make other people feel comfortable. Always being brave and never _thinking_.

Regina breathed in slowly. "She's so beautiful. I don't tell her that enough." Her words hung in the air like soap bubbles. Henry was silent. "I don't just mean the way she looks, but the way she is." Regina ran her finger over the clammy skin of Emma's hand, telling her through the blood running down her veins against the blood running through hers that they were going to be alright. She breathed in, raising her hand to brush a flyaway blonde hair from Emma's cold face. "Even when we were little girls, even when she didn't, I knew she was special. Stubborn, and reckless, and too brave for her own good. She cared too much, and she let it show. She wasn't perfect. She had doubts, fears. She put me before herself. I always knew she was special, and when I was with her... I was special, too." Regina's voice was threatening to break. She pushed back the tears gathering thickly behind her eyes, breathing in sharply and steeling herself. "Some people are different." She stated firmly. "They have something _more_ than the rest. She always did."

She could feel Henry stepping closer. The little boy with the birds nest of brown hair didn't say a word. Instead, he sat down beside her and reached for her free hand. Regina jumped at first, stiffening and staring down at where his small skinny fingers twined through hers. She looked at him in query. His big hazel eyes found hers earnestly, and in them was all the answer she needed. Regina breathed out, letting her fingers relax slightly in his. Slowly, she gripped him back. She stayed like that for a long time, one hand holding Emma's and one hand holding Henry's, until she felt her strength come back to her.

At some point, Emma started moving in her sleep, rolling and frowning and kicking and muttering. Regina's breath caught in her throat, and she exchanged a worried look with Henry. But when Emma started to speak in her sleep, all it did was melt her heart. "'Gina," She kept murmuring, shifting against the pillow. "'Gina."

She woke as she sun dropped away, as if she knew.

If there was one thing she'd learned over the last two decades it was that Emma Swan never usually did what she was told. But everybody had exceptions. Somehow, she managed to keep herself alive long enough for the day to fade and the stars to show.

Regina used her magic to transport them to the clifftop, smoke fading away in the cool night air. They were right by the edge, where jagged white rock plummeted down miles to where the restless black ocean rolled and crashed and exploded against it, a living breathing thing. Under her feet, the ground was mostly crumbling soil and sharp rocks, grass sparse and withered. A chalky rind of moon skulked reluctantly, smeared against the inky dark sky. It stripped the world of colour and repainted everything it touched, bathing the world in a spectrum of silver and blue. A myriad of stars speckled the endless sky that hung low and swollen around them. The only sound was of their hearts refusing to stop beating, and the steady breath of the ocean, in and out, in and out. She wished she could breathe that well. The air was perfectly still, as if the night held its' breath. _Now let's see,_ Regina thought _, which of us will see tomorrow._

"Lie back," Regina told Emma softly, kneeling amongst the dirt and limestone. She'd had a whole day to stew on what she was doing, but in truth she hadn't even really thought about it. It put a strange dancing feeling in her chest. _So this is it_. There were worse ways to go. Emma rested her head back against the soil with a pained sigh. The ethervescent glow of the moon turned her hair to silver and her skin to marble, and her wound a black ink spill on the linen bandages wrapped around her stomach. "Close your eyes." She swallowed around the lump in her throat. "And when they open again you'll feel the sunlight. And there won't be any more pain." _After all. I did promise not to lie to you._

She filled her lungs slowly with the night air, resting her fingertips gently on Emma's temples. Her skin was cool. Regina swallowed hard again, tried to rid herself of any doubts or inhibitions. She didn't matter. _Emma_ mattered. _Emma_ needed to live another day. The world needed her to. She steeled herself, pushed her own life aside for maybe the last time, and grasped for her magic.

This time it was different. That was why it had to be done out here – instead of drawing from the magic within herself, she'd have to channel energy from the moon, the stars, the sea. She would need all the power she could get if this exchange was going to work. Regina closed her eyes, reaching, searching for the power waiting all around her, ready if she just knew how to harness it. She breathed in. She breathed out. She stopped thinking, stopped worrying. She stopped being anything at all. Until she let everything in.

And then the power was crashing through her veins, and her heart was beating ocean waves, and as it filled her, she began. She found the pain, the festering wound that would have to claim one life tonight. _That life can't be Emma's._ She grasped it, her power's energy mingled with its. She became it. She drew it out, willing it through bone and blood and spirit, through bone and blood and spirit. She drew it out until she could feel it waiting, lingering on the edge of her own soul. Impatient. Demanding.

Until she couldn't. It was like there was a part of the fate stuck within Emma, reluctant to come out. Regina opened herself to the energy of the moon, let it flood through her. She furrowed her brow, gritted her teeth, and pulled harder. Nothing. Beneath her fingers, Emma was sweating profusely again, though her skin was icy cold. She was grimacing in pain, brows knit and face contorted. In the moonlight, her skin was covered in a sheen of sweat. Regina's heart sped up frantically as she begged, forced the darkness from her. Tears were falling fast down her cheeks. Not now, not after everything. "Come on," She whispered, tightening her grip on the power. "Come on!" The air stole her shout and tossed it away. Emma winced, shifting on the ground. No. _No_ , _no_ , _no_. Regina shook her head fiercely, working with everything she had. "I've spent my whole life saying goodbye to you, I am not going to say it again!"

Regina breathed in sharply, yanking with all the magic she had in her, with all the power of the moon and the stars. She couldn't leave any of it behind. She pulled with all her might. Something gave. She almost fell back, as if it had hit her. When she searched Emma, send her magic scouring her soul, she felt nothing but the clear emptiness of the future. Of hope. Of life.

She almost collapsed in relief before the first pain struck her.

Regina cried out, clutching her stomach. There was no skin wound, so there was no blood, but she could feel it. She gasped, bones failing. She felt so weak suddenly, hot and cold and hurt and it didn't matter because she couldn't move. She couldn't do anything. Regina didn't remember falling but suddenly all she could see was the dirt, soil clinging to her skin, rocks digging in. Her fingers lacked the strength to scrabble against the ground. Regina's breath was shallow and ragged, sharp desperate gasps bursting from her lips as her chest heaved with the effort. It was leaving her, the breath was leaving her. As her tense muscles relaxed against the clifftop, a soft smile ghosted over Regina's mouth. _I did it._

Emma would live. Even if she would have to live without her.

Regina's heavy eyelids fluttered shut. She could feel her blood slowing in her freezing veins. Feel the darkness crawling up on her, but there would be light, too, so much light now. She'd saved Emma. She saved... and then there was nothing but black.

Black. Black. Black.

She gasped sharply. Regina sat up suddenly, clawing at the dirt. Her lungs desperately grasped for air, drawing in huge shaky breaths and aching as they came back to life. She gasped for air, choking on nothing, chest aching. Her blood was quickening, skin flooding with warmth. _What_... _what_...? Regina struggled to get her breathing back in order, black spots fading from her vision. Slowly, thoughts began to cloud her mind once again. _I'm_ _alive_. Her brow furrowed deeply, heart thumping wildly. _H_ _ow am I alive?_

The plan was to do the ceremony which would transfer Emma's wound and Emma's fate to her. Regina wasn't sure that it would kill her at first but once the pain started she'd been certain... Her heart missed a beat. It hadn't worked. It can't have – "Emma!" She shouted, scrambling over to the long slumped form a few metres away on the clifftop, messy blonde curls stirring slightly in the air. "Emma!" Regina knelt beside her, frantically grabbing for her wrists, searching for a pulse.

 _Thump_ - _thump_. _Thump_ - _thump_.

Emma's blood was flowing. Her skin was warm, and starting to colour again. Regina's breath caught in her throat as she stared. _We're both alive. We're both alive._ A bubble of hysteria rose in her throat. And suddenly she was laughing, crying too, but mostly laughing, feeling Emma's heart beating defiantly beneath her fingers. Suddenly, green eyes flickered open. She looked tired, but there was no pain. A small smirk curled across her lips. "Guess it worked, then?"

Regina made a noise halfway between a laugh and a sob, throwing her arms suddenly around Emma's warm neck, burying her face in familiar soft blonde hair, overwhelmed by the smell of home. She didn't know how, but they were alive. Emma's arms rose eventually, wrapping around the small of her back, holding her close with a ragged sigh of relief. "I love you," Regina tod her. She'd wasted too much time not saying it. "I love you."

Regina sighed, burrowing closer against her on the silvery cliff. Tonight, they had won.


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N ~** Don't worry, you will soon find out what that last chapter was all about. Unless you've already worked it out. In which case, yes. Filler chapter is fillery. But whatcha gonna do.

 **19.**

Emma was tired of lying around.

She felt fine. Great, really. Better than she should, considering she'd been internally bleeding and waiting for her ruptured insides to just hurry up and kill her just a few days ago. In fact, she felt better than she had in a long time. She'd taken a spear through her gut and had nothing but a faded pink scar to show for it – the skin was shiny and marbled, like it had been healing for years. And Regina thought Emma was the hero.

No matter how she insisted she was fine, the physicians and healers floating around camp all agreed she needed to take it easy for a few days just to make sure. _Bullshit_ , Emma thought, _magic doesn't need_ to make sure. But oh no, she was only their future queen, their fearless commander. What did _she_ know? Sleep was exhausting. Between meetings and commands, Regina sat with her and talked, keeping her updated on everything that was going on. Sometimes Henry joined them. She had a whole bundle of letters from Neal and her parents. Her mother was home now, after accepting a surrender on her front. It made Emma smile, even though she wasn't there.

The first day they cleared her she practically leapt from her makeshift bed, dressing so quickly she laced her shirt up wrong. But it didn't matter. For once, things were going her way. She was alive and Regina was alive. After their victory at the beachfront battle, they were pressing further on the Eastern Alliance than ever before, so Regina said. They were expending a surrender before the year was up. Emma tried not to think about what happened after that.

She made her way back to her pavilion for the first time since the battle, keeping her head up and an encouraging smile on her face. She could feel the stares of her men – even for those who weren't there, word had flown quickly of her injury, and how the Queen Regent of Ironhaven had found her on the beach. Rumours spread like wildfire in places like this, but she was didn't care anymore. She just needed to let them see that she was alive and well, and still fighting.

Emma pushed through the canvas flaps of her tent to find Henry and Regina sitting laughing about something. Henry's hair was tidy for a change, Regina's dark eyes sparkling as she smiled. "Hello people who don't live here," Emma greeted, unfastening her cloak and tossing it to crumple on the floor before filling a cup with water from the porcelain jug on the table.

"Are you really going to leave that on the floor?" Regina raised an eyebrow. There was something slightly different about the look in her eyes, the way she carried herself. _Happiness_ , Emma thought instantly, with a hard warmth blooming in her chest, _happiness._ "You know that's how things get creased."

"I'm not five!" Emma folded her arms across her chest, draining the cool water in one. "And anyway, shouldn't you be... I don't know, more pleased to see me. Overcome that they released me? Awash in gratitude for my safe return? Running into my arms and crying a single tear for my life?"

Regina snorted, scathing. "You've been fine ever since I healed you. Those idiots running the hospital were the ones who kept you there." She swallowed, blinking as she added quietly, "I've cried enough over you in my life as it is."

Emma's breath softened in her lungs. In that moment, she could feel the lump forming in her throat, blocking the words. Because she wanted to tell her that she'd never have to shed another tear for her again. More than anything, she wanted to promise her that they'd be okay and her crying days were done. But she'd sworn not to lie to her. And it just seemed silly to break a promise after twenty years of honesty. She breathed in, shook it off and fixed on the best grin she could muster. "Turns out I'm pretty hard to kill."

"Yes," Regina agreed softly, pushing herself to her feet and brushing down her dress. She strode toward Emma, stopping short when she was close enough for Emma to hear her breath and smell her warm skin under her perfume. The brunette drew in a long breath, opening her mouth as she laid her slender hands gently on Emma's shoulders to straighten her shirt. "You could say that again." Emma stared at her, her downturned faze, the familiar planes of her face, the full parted lips. A faint smile crept across her aching heart.

"I'm gonna go." Henry announced awkwardly.

Regina and Emma broke away from their gaze at the same time, watching him climb to his feet. The boy was all knees and elbows, huffing as he straightened up. He reminded Emma of some kind of small bird, like a sparrow or something. He was taller than he was when he last came to see her in the healers tent, she realised, with a bittersweet pang in her chest that felt like family. "Where are you going?" Regina demanded.

"Just for a walk," Henry shrugged dramatically, blowing his brown hair from his eyes. A small smile crossed Emma's face. "It's a camp, there's not much I _can_ go."

"Okay." Emma watched Regina's brow knit together slightly, lips pursed. "Be safe."

"Come on, 'Gina." Emma nudged her shoulder. "He's growing up. My big tough squire." And then she supressed a snort, because Henry was about as small and skinny and passive as you could get. It hadn't taken her long to realize he only wanted to squire for her because it was her. Ever since he'd learned to read at the White Palace, all he wanted was to lose himself in books, the dusty crackling pages and ink that spoke of adventure and bravery. She made a mental note to introduce him to August once all this was over. Regina shot her a look.

"I'll be fine," Henry assured them, grinning brightly. "You two worry too much." He picked up his own short cloak, folded neatly on the table and fastened it hastily. He turned before he left, wide hazel eyes darting from Emma to Regina. "And thank you."

Emma had the feeling he was referencing whatever they were talking about before she showed up. "For what?"

"Well," Henry explained. "I never knew my first parents, they died before I could. So I never really knew what love was like. And when you don't know something, it's easy to stop believing in it. So I didn't believe in love. Not 'til I met you." He took a deep breath. "Cause after seeing you two, how could I not believe? After twenty years, you're still willing to give up everything for each other. And I see how you smile at each other and I know real love exists, and that's what it looks like. So thanks." He smiled. "You helped me believe."

Emma found Regina's gaze, heart melting over her ribs. She faltered, smiling and launching to pull the boy into a hug, enfolding him in her arms. Regina seemed to have had to same idea; their hands touched around his back as they held him tight. Emma knew it was stupid, but she could feel the tears welling. "I love you," She heard herself whisper into his soft brown hair. She'd learned now that if you loved someone you let them know.

" _We_ love you," Regina corrected softly, head tucked into Henry's shoulder, and something in Emma's chest collapsed (it always did). Her thumb was brushing over hers on the kid's back. He was warm and breathing to his own tune, hair tickling. The world was soft and kind, and smelled like rain and old books, apples and cinnamon and family.

When eventually they released him, Henry was wearing a breathless expression and a strange look in his eyes, hair rumpled all over the place. Slowly, a lopsided grin spread over his face inch by inch, until his eyes lit up like stars and his whole short body seemed to radiate happiness. "I love you, too," He said, nodding, casually. Like it came so easily to him, speaking his heart. Emma thanked all the gods there were that he would never make her mistakes.

Henry waved another _see ya_ , before spinning on his heels and running out into the fields. "Be careful!" Regina called after him, but the tent flaps were already falling closed. She sighed, turning to look up at Emma with the most awestruck look on her face, dark eyes shining. "Emma," She said, incredulous.

Emma wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer. "I know." She agreed, swallowing hard. "I know." Her hand draped over Regina's shoulder softly, and Regina's warm fingers came up to hold it there, clutching her in a way that made her heart unfold. She breathed in and out slowly. "He's a good kid."

"Reminds me of you, at that age." Regina smiled, eyes flickering up to meet Emma's.

"That's funny." Emma grinned, blinking as she ran her thumb over hers. _Huh._ "I always thought he reminded me of you."

-0-

It took three more months before the kings of the Eastern Alliance send an envoy to deliver their surrender.

Regina and Emma rode out with a handful of lords and soldiers and retainers, the banners of Callendor and Ironhaven snapping in the wind side by side, to the royal palace of Salmere, to sign their treaties. It was strange. They'd won, conquered their shared threat and freed their kingdoms from the shadow of their threat and yet somehow, clutching the horse's reins in her gloved hands, thunder of hooves in her ears, Emma's hair streaming like the banners as they rode, Regina couldn't help feeling like she'd lost.

They always knew this day would come. From the day they agreed their alliance – or rather, the morning after – it was always going to be temporary. Just until they defeated their common foe. Then they'd be fighting again. There was too much bad blood; too much water under the bridge to stop now. And wasn't it funny, that was exactly what she felt about Emma.

When they drew to a stop in the ugly courtyard of the palace, Emma caught her eye across the brightly lit cobbles, and her it said all the words they couldn't speak. The day had dawned crisp and clear, the sky colourless and dazzlingly bright, flooding the whole world with the kind of light that worms its way into every crack and crevice, and refuses to leave anything in the dark. Regina sighed heavily, fingers curling around her mount's reins, letting her eyes fall shut for a moment. The horse whickered impatiently, waiting for her to get down. She gave herself one moment of heartbreak, watching Emma swing down off her own horse and drop to her feet.

Without thinking, the wonderful woman who had been the gap-toothed girl Regina always loved jogged over, messy blonde ponytail bouncing in the harsh sunlight to help her down off her horse. A faint smile crossed her lips at the fleeting feel of Emma's strong gloved hands at her waist, before her feet touched the ground. Emma knew better than anyone how capable Regina was on horseback; she'd seen it herself first hand – yet she still insisted on this one courtesy. _And she thinks she's not traditional._

"We ready?" Emma asked, hand raised against the light.

 _No._ "Ready as I'll ever be," Regina allowed, pulling her own gloves off as she fell into pace beside Emma, the two of them walking in tandem as they followed King Eric's steward up the stairs to the enemy's palace.

Their footsteps echoed off the yellow stone corridors as they walked. Regina's breath was congealing in her lungs, reluctant to come or go. The air felt heavy, today, hanging low and swollen all around them. They followed the man down a wide hallway, with torches burning in their iron sconces despite the light outside. They cast a dull orange glow over the floor. Regina made sure to step on it as she passed. She breathed in slowly, savouring it in her lungs, forcing herself to at least look strong enough. She raised her chin, setting her shoulders back and forcing any thoughts of the future from her head.

The Salmere man pushed open one of the iron-bound oak double doors. The great thing creaked on its hinges as it inched forwards. Inside, the hall was low and long, with both the Salmere king and Aurumford's King Midas, unhappy men breathing heavily in their uncomfortable seats. Regina clenched her jaw, eyes darting between them as she entered.

"Your majesties," The man announced. "King Charles I of Salmere, and King Midas of Aurumford, the Eastern Alliance, welcome you, Regina, Queen Regent of Ironhaven, and Princess Emma Swan of Callendor."

Regina nearly snorted. _I doubt it._ Both men were staring with all the loathing in the world. It gave her a childish sense of satisfaction, these two spoiled men, so sullen at being defeated by two women. Particularly since one of them she knew for a fact was opposed to woman even giving political advice. She turned her stare on King Midas, challengingly. He'd kicked up such a fuss that a highborn little girl had tried to help him. Well, now that little girl had grown up and crushed him. A small smirk crept across Regina's lips. She shifted on her feet, hurrying in beside Emma. _Maybe I do hold grudges._

Regina heard the door fall shut heavily behind them as they walked down to the mahogany table in the centre of the hall. There were arrow slits and thin windows set deep into the stone walls all around, thin slats of pale light falling across the room. She stopped beside the table, watching carefully as the Eastern kings rose from their ugly thrones to join them. She kept her stony face impassive, head raised. Once they were standing opposite them, around the edge of the table. Regina exchanged a look with Emma – her jaw was tight, green eyes grave. Regina nodded, probably imperceptibly to anyone else.

Regina cleared her throat, looking from king to king. "Your majesties," She greeted. "Let's get this done quickly, shall we? Your documents, if you please."

With an unintelligible grunt, King Midas slid a long parchment across the table, with a quill and inkpot. "I'll need you both to sign where it says." He told them, nodding. "And then you can be on your way."

"Of course," Regina smiled as she picked up the quill between her fingers, just to see it grate on him. She scanned the paper thoroughly, checking off all the terms she had expected before dipping the nib in the ink and carefully signing above her title. She watched the quill form the letters without thinking about what she was doing. She placed the quill down. "Emma,"

She watched as Emma picked it up, frowning over the writing before scrawling her own mark beside Regina's. Emma dropped the pen onto the table, looking up and sliding the treaty back. The air had thickened, stretched around them. Regina breathed in, tense. King Charles stared over the paper before adding his own signature. Midas followed. She could feel Emma trying to catch her eye but Regina didn't meet it – she needed all her strength for that.

Once the papers were signed, Charles at least managed a smile, even if it was the emptiest, fakest smile Regina had ever seen (and her mother had been Cora Mills). "Well," He sighed. "We're all done."

 _No,_ Regina thought, glancing at Emma, _we're never done._

-0-

In the cold starlight, Emma's heart was growing heavy.

Tonight would be the last night they slept entwined in their shared encampment. Flames from the candles and the torches outside sent waltzing auburn light and smudged shadows flickering across the worn canvas walls of her tent. The angle had lengthened them, so the light towered over the flames that cast them. Sitting on the end of her makeshift bed, they dwarfed her too – it was like they were embers in some heavenly fire. Or maybe the night had just gone to her head.

Emma drew in a slow breath, filling her lungs inch by inch. Beyond their cloth escape, the night was sharp, air clean and clear but here there warmth was confined, soft as baby's breath against her skin. She kicked her boots aside, standing and stretching her neck, pushing her loose blonde hair behind her. Emma released her sigh and stepped slowly forward into Regina's waiting touch. The feel of her skin against hers was comforting, familiar and blinding. Just for tonight, Emma wanted to be blinded. She slipped an arm around Regina's waist, holding her close against her. Her free hand pushed a stray wave of dark hair behind her ear. The side of her hand sparked where it brushed her face. "'Gina," Emma murmured. Regina's gaze flickered up to meet hers, dark and shining. She could pick out the different shades of brown in them as easily as rattling off her favourite colours – by this point, it were practically the same thing. Her skin seemed to glow in the gentle light, absorbing it. She was breathing slowly, lips parted, chaos written across the way she stood. "I loved you from the start. And I promise you, I will love you to the end."

"It's not the end," Regina shook her head slightly, voice small, low and cracking. Her gaze burrowed into Emma's, persistent. She sighed, leaning in to Emma's touch. "Truces are temporary, alliances die but we go on." She blinked, and when she spoke again she sounded more certain and less hopeful. "I'm going back to Ironhaven tomorrow."

"Yeah," Emma nodded, swallowing. She could feel the warmth of her skin beneath her clothes, savoured it with all she had. "And I'm going home. But you..." She fell short, trying to find the words. "You never left. Since the day we met, you might have gone back home, you might have come and gone a hundred times but you _never went away._ You married that man, in that country but you never left me. You've always been with me, Regina. Always. And I think you always will be."

"Emma," Regina breathed, eyes blasted with the weight of the years. She lifted a hand to curl around Emma's cheek, leaning in to brush her soft lips over hers. Emma's heart evaporated. Gently, she pulled her closer against her, arm tightening around Regina's waist. Everything was warm and tingling. She could feel her heart beating through her temples. Emma moved her mouth softly, firmly over hers, praying for time to stop and never move again. Maybe it was cowardice, but if this was what cowardice felt like she would have thrown down her sword a long time ago.

Regina drew back, with a look in her eyes that made Emma feel five years old again, staring at the dark haired girl hanging uncertainly behind her mother's skirts. She searched for something to say. "Tomorrow..." Emma faltered.

"Shh." Regina shook her head again, resting a finger against Emma's lips to cut her off. There was a desperation, an urgency laced in her gaze. "Just for tonight... I don't want to think about tomorrow."

"Then we won't," Emma agreed lightly. She took Regina's hand from in hers, pressing a soft kiss against her open palm. "There's only tonight."

"Only tonight," Regina repeated, resting her arms around Emma's neck. She leaned in again, noses brushing, dark hair tangling with Emma's blonde on their touching shoulders. Her eyes found Emma's, the same eyes she'd found and reassured as a little girl, a stare she'd spoken to more than her words ever had. Emma wrapped her arms lower, tighter, to lift her up as their lips met once more. Regina gasped against her lips. "Only tonight."

Somewhere in the night, tangled hopelessly beneath the furs with her, Emma started to believe it.


	20. Chapter 20

A/N ~

Am I really this close to the end? Am I really posting the SECOND TO LAST CHAPTER?#iamnotparaphrasingiconicclexaquotesiamnot

20.

"Emma," Regina whispered, staring at the underside of the fur above her. She turned her head to the side but found nothing but more blankets, tangled up and full of their shared, trapped warmth. "Are you awake?"

"Yeah," Her familiar voice whispered back.

Regina felt her shifting under the covers, a few inches away. She could see the pale light of dawn crawling in through the blankets. Her own breathing seemed amplified, trapped beneath the covers, louder than her heavy heart. She swallowed hard. "I don't want it to be today." She admitted, voice hanging in the thick hot air beneath the furs. "I'm scared."

"I know," Emma replied, voice lingering in the makeshift bed somewhere beside her, beyond a mountain of bedding. Regina stared at the back of the covers, breathing, watching the shy lilac sunrise streak through the canvas and cloth, illuminating the pavilion. The day was coming. There was nothing either of them could do to stop it. "Me too."

"I have to go." Regina said, more to herself than to Emma. "I'm the regent and I haven't been in my own country for months. I need to clean Ironhaven up. Rebuild. And you have to go home and see your parents and your brother and your friends. You need to heal with them and bring your own land back to life."

"What about us?" Emma's voice stated, a few inches to the side, flat and resigned because she already knew the answer.

Regina's teeth worried at her lip, letting her eyes fall closed for a moment as her porcelain heart cracked open. "Emma..." She sighed, searching for something else to say.

"Let's not be at war," Emma breathed suddenly, voice low and tired. Regina heard her sighing, breathing in sharply. Light crept across the thin canvas ceiling. "We'll make some papers and sign them. Say we sorted out our differences by defeating the Alliance together. I just – I can't, again. I can't."

"Okay." Regina swallowed. "Before we leave today." She hesitated, and then breathed in slowly before summoning the strength and inching her hand sideways under the heavy blankets, fingers searching for Emma's. They brushed a familiar calloused warmth her heart caught in her throat for some reason as she twined her fingers softly through Emma's, even though they'd held hands a thousand times before. They'd scarcely let go as children. The ghost of a smile brushed over her lips. Then Emma's warm solid hand curled more certainly around hers and all smiles died, because Regina realized what the reason was.

It might be for the last time.

"I love you," Emma told her, for the hundredth time. It still buried itself in Regina's heart like an arrow. Her thumb was stroking hers gently under the covers. Regina looked sideways again. Over the blankets she could see a spill of tangled blonde hair, lit up in the dawn. "But not just in a normal way. I can't remember a time before you. I loved you since I was a _toddler_ , Regina." Emma's thick voice broke on the last sentence. "I don't know how to stop."

"You don't have to," Regina said, pleading her to see. "Neither do I. We just –" She rolled over onto her side suddenly, pushing through their tangled nest of blankets until she could see the pale golden dawn breaking over Emma's profile. She swallowed, breathing in. Emma turned heavily, hair falling against her face, hard green eyes meeting Regina's. She could feel her breath on her skin, see every eyelash and the way her throat worked as she swallowed. Regina tightened her hand around hers. "It isn't goodbye. It's just..." She breathed in, praying for the strength, but her fingers were squeezing Emma's like a lifeline and her heart was setting like the sun. Regina mustered all the strength she had, stare boring into Emma's. " _Until we meet again._ "

"Until we meet again," Emma repeated softly, sad hint of a smile curling at the corners of her lips. A gentle hand reached up to brush Regina's hair from her face.

Rising from the bed that morning was one of the hardest things she'd ever had to do.

They drew up their truce papers with witnesses from Callendor and Ironhaven, and signed together as the sun broke over the horizon. The struggling kingdoms would put aside their differences in lieu of their successful alliance and defeat of the Eastern Alliance. There would be no more bloodshed. Regina wondered what Emma's parents would have to say about this. Then she wondered how any of them could have been foolish enough to entertain the prospect of war. Then she wondered when the next time she'd see Emma would be, and promptly stopped wondering things.

The morning was bright and cold, and for the first time in weeks the faded sky was free of clouds – soft gold sunlight spilled across the healing land. It was enough to make a smile cross Regina's lips, if only for an instant. _Irony._ They mounted as the sun climbed higher into the sky, Regina and Emma and Henry leading the column in a delicate silence.

She didn't know if she was strong enough for another farewell. She didn't know whether she wanted to stop, or turn around, stay or run away. So Regina didn't do any of that. Instead, she held the reins of her horse loosely and let the breeze sting at her cheeks as it flowed around her, toying with the ends of her hair. She watched the verdant green land tear past her, listened to the sound of her breathing and their horses hooves tearing at the earth, helpless to the cruel tirade of time, or fate, or reality or whatever the hell it was that seemed to be working against her from the start. The Callendor border couldn't be far now.

She rode with the sun on her skin, warm and rough, and tried not to look at the little boy and the woman beside her. Tried not to think about their ghosts – the truth was, Regina had been haunted all these years, by the children in love and the queens they became. For so long she had carried the memories of the little girls they had been, preserved like flowers between the pages of her heart. _The weight of them, God, the weight of them._

Once upon a time, a scared little girl who had never been enough hid in the shattered rainbow sunlight behind her mother's skirts and a small princess with a wooden sword and a head full of misguided dreams pulled her out and kissed her hand and changed everything, forever. A life of goodbyes later, and here they were.

Regina's heart slowed, breath lingering in her lungs as she reined up in the open green field that she _knew_ would haunt her nightmares soon enough. To the north was Callendor. To the west was Xalvadarr, and further west than that was Ironhaven. _Neither of them_ , she thought, watching Emma's horse slow to a stop before her, _were ever truly my home._

All around the land unfurled, bright and uneven, endless green fields vanishing into the horizon. Sunlight poured down, turning everything the rosy gold colour of memories. Regina shifted on her horse, staring beneath the strands of hair the wind teased across her face. All around their men had stopped uncertainly, waiting for the divide to happen. Henry had ridden back a few paces. They were all watching, waiting to see what would happen. Regina was waiting, too.

She urged her horse slightly, so that she was facing Emma. Her bones suddenly felt very heavy, blood cumbersome. Regina rode closer as Emma did. When her gaze met hers Regina felt it like a kick to the chest, and suddenly her heart was caving in and beating faster at once, the lump in her tight throat was swelling. She just wanted to _stop._

She couldn't have said how long they stayed like that, stiff fingers loose around horses reins, staring. It could have been a second or a century. Either way, it wasn't enough. It would never be enough. Regina was frozen, frantic – she wanted to remember everything about her, and never forget. Memorize the planes of her face, the curve of her cheekbones, the crinkle in her nose when she smiled. There were other things too – the feel of her gentle, calloused hands against her skin, the sound of her voice across the pillow in the darkness, the smell of home that clung to her like perfume, the way it felt when she said she loved her.

Emma swung off her horse suddenly, dropping to the ground. Her long blonde hair was stirring the wind, her brow was knitted slightly against the sun, and the whole world shone in her green eyes. Before Regina knew what she was doing she was sliding from her horse, too, letting the familiar rhythm of Emma's breath chase the rest of the world away. They stepped softly closer at the same time, magnetic blood, waltzing heartbeats.

Regina searched that face she knew so well, and her insides turned to dust. She didn't care about their armies. She didn't care about what people would say. When Emma shook her head, faltering, and slipped a hand to cup her face, she didn't turn away. She sighed, letting herself lean into her final touch. Those green eyes were shining, blasted with emotion. Regina's breath caught in her tight throat.

They leaned in at the same time. Regina's eyes fluttered shut as their lips pressed together for maybe the last time. Her glass heart ached and stilled in her breaking chest. Emma's lips were soft and warm and firm, her hand, laid against Regina's cheek, pulling her in. She could feel her pulse jump in her cheek. The world was entirely still. The winds died. The earth was silent, everything but their shared breath fading into deafening nothing. Regina lingered against her, savouring every second.

She pulled away with a sharp intake of breath, every cell collapsing into a sigh. Finally, Regina brought herself to look up into Emma's waiting gaze, tight and shining with unfallen tears. Could this really be the last time she stared into those eyes? The last time she felt her skin against hers and the warmth of her breath so near? Regina raised her own hand to Emma's cheek, breathing herself back to life. She mustered all the courage she had left, but her voice still shook. "Until we meet again,"

"'til we meet again," Emma murmured, gaze locked onto her. Her hand had threaded through Regina's hair then, running a dark wave between her fingers.

Regina wrenched herself away, refusing to let the tears fall until her back was turned. Climbing back onto her horse with the sun setting in her heart and her half of the army behind her, she didn't look back.

It wasn't until later, when she was back at Ironhaven, lying alone in her cold quiet bed, that she realised why she hadn't died saving Emma on that thin-mooned clifftop. It came upon her suddenly, but Regina wasn't surprised. She wasn't anything. Perhaps she had known; perhaps she had always known.

True Love was the only thing powerful enough to break any curse and create such magic, after all.


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N ~** So that happened. I literally cannot believe I'm writing this. How did we get here so fast? I have loved writing this, and I love every one of you reading it. Thank you to everyone who's read, reviewed, followed, shared etc! You all rock. Deep breaths. Here we go.

Also, in the interest of shameless self-promotion, keep a look out for my SQ pirate AU, which I'll be posting sometime next week, if that floats your fancy.

 **The Beginning (of The Rest)**

Emma Swan came home as spring begun to dawn on the world. It was the season of rebirth and similarly, with her return came the spring of Callendor.

Every day, she woke up to the sound of birds singing and her own thoughts. Her gaze always snagged on the side of the too-soft mattress that had always belonged to somebody else as she pushed out of bed. There was no one there, but at least the war was over. Her heart was weary but she pushed on.

The first weeks after, Emma would wake with the dawn and sit by the window, closing her eyes and letting the sunlight crawl across her skin, warm her back to life. Beyond the sun-warmed glass, the White Palace slowly came back to life. Supply carts clattered through the yard, people went freely about their business, children shouted without fear or hesitance. The sky was too blue, and the world was too safe. It made Emma want to cry. She did cry when she was with her mother again, and her father and Neal.

Those first few weeks were a blur. She slept and woke and ate the food the servants brought her and slept again. Sometimes she dreamed of blood and brown eyes and woke screaming. Sometimes she collapsed into a leaden dreamless sleep that she woke from more tired than before. Sometimes she laid in the dark listening to the quiet and wondering when the next attack would be. War never caught up until you stopped moving.

As the kingdom was rebuilt around her, Emma rebuilt herself.

Slowly, _slowly_. She walked through the town, and through the market and down past the creek, trying not to keep her twitching hand on the sword at her hip so much. She sat and read in the library with Henry, neither of them acknowledging their missing third piece. As the seasons changed, she learned to laugh again. She rode with Neal in the meadows that had started to flower again though nobody had time to seed it, met with August and read his finished book. She walked with her parents as they healed together. She smiled again. A thousand times she picked up a quill and stared at the blank parchment in front of her, mind full of dark hair and scars and a laugh like home, and a thousand times the paper ended up ash in the hearth. Crops grew. Babies were born, who would grow into a new generation who had never known war and would never have to. Rain fell, and was chased out by sunshine. They buried the dead and buried them inside themselves. People lived and loved and died as they should.

The years passed.

Emma threw herself into cleaning up her war-torn kingdom. There was a hole in her chest where Regina used to live, and she tried to fill it with life. She helped her men rebuild houses, the villages that had been burned or razed to the ground. She rode through farms and planted trees. She visited the hospitals, the camps set up to help soldiers and victims both. _We did this,_ she thought suddenly, sat on a tree stump in the dappled sunlight between putting up new houses, _we did this._ She wondered if all the hearts that couldn't move on were truly because they waited, because they were so stupid and crippled and blinded by doubt they should never have carried so young. If she'd just asked Regina to marry her first, Cora be damned... All of this might have been avoided.

"You're blaming yourself, again," Henry told her. His shadow fell across Emma's face as he stood over her, tall and gangly. His voice was breaking. "But it wasn't your fault." The boy who was suddenly becoming a young man before her eyes flopped down beside her, brown hair falling in his face. "I miss her, too."

Emma sighed, wrapping her arm around his shoulders and pulling him close. "Where'd I be without you, kid?"

Maybe everything happened for a reason and maybe it didn't. Maybe she had to lose Regina to find Henry so they could come back together and build a family in the middle of a battlefield. Maybe their love, all they'd shared was too good, too pure to remain when the children who'd started it grew up. They were killers and victims. Survivors. Leftover humans. But Emma's poisoned blood still ran. Her bones still held her up, however cracked they might be. She still _felt_. Maybe everything they'd been through was all for some higher plan and maybe it wasn't, but if she'd learned one thing from all of this it was that hearts were more resilient than she'd thought, and maybe that was what she'd needed to know all along.

Emma tucked her head over Henry's and breathed in this broken new era of the sun.

-0-

As war turned to scars that would turn to memory that would become someone else's old stories, Regina tried to do right by her kingdom. Tried do right by _something_ , for once in her life.

When she came to the Mightfort, eighteen and full of bruises and anger, she'd thought it was a cruel and cold place. A hard land built for hard times. A war camp that crossed leagues rather than miles. But she was beginning to realize it didn't have to be that way. She had a chance now. To make a difference to thousands of lives as Emma would have done. So Regina did what she never thought she wanted to do: she ruled. She woke early and slept rarely, throwing her everything into fixing George's mistakes, and trying her best to show his heir a better way.

Regina could handle the days. They were bright and full of promises, summer breezes that spoke of better times to come. Between rebuilding the council with true and intelligent men, reordering a kingdom, sowing seeds, mending a long-broken economy, dealing with the dead, her days were so full she didn't have time to think about herself, or the heaviness that covered her chest like dust.

The nights were a different story.

In the darkness all alone, the queen and the strength fell away and she was just Regina. And she could never sleep – she was glad. She didn't deserve to sleep after everything that had happened. Staring at the ceiling while in soft black silence, she let herself shatter and the ghosts came creeping in through the cracks.

When they were younger and left Feather in the stables, she whinnied and pawed at the ground because she thought Emma didn't love her anymore. But Regina could feel Emma out there somewhere, loving her. And somehow that was a thousand times harder.

She was miles and miles away, happy, healing. Regina hoped she was doing well, and learning to live properly, finally free. Free in a way she never had been before. Regina stopped trying to bring her back – she only came back when she felt like it, in yellow butterflies and broken down deja vu. She was never really back, but she never really left either. Finally, Regina understood what she meant when she told her she'd always been with her. Because just as a river carves a valley where it flows, so too had Emma shaped her soul with her passage. There were some memories that defined you. Some promises you just couldn't scrub out.

Some people stained.

The leaves were just turning golden when the raven came. Regina was standing at the window in her bedchambers, watching the world turn. She tried not to see her reflection in the glass but years blind you, just as youth once did. Regina tried to see beyond the horizon. Emma was out there, somewhere, moving on with Henry. A faint smile crossed her lips at the thought, fingers brushing the hard stone sill.

Her heart leapt and collapsed at once when the bird arrived, as it had so long ago. Regina took the scrap of parchment from it, unfurled it. She recognized the elegant, careful script. It was not from Emma Swan, but she cried anyway. She cried because of everything she was used to and everything she wasn't. She cried because of all she never said, and all she always knew. She cried because a thousand years ago, the gap-toothed blonde girl in the back of a straw cart had been right.

She always had been.

With her heart beating hard against her chest and tears stinging her eyes, Regina wrote her single-word reply to Queen Snow's request.

-0-

"Come on, Emma. You're going to be fine."

"I know, Mother, I just..."

" _Emma_. Trust me."

"Okay –" She bit herself off, breathing in the hard unforgiving air and hurrying to keep pace with her mother.

Emma watched her feet against the floor. It was easier that way. The golden sunlight of the ending summer struck the stained windows high, light stretching and sprawling in a myriad of colours against the stone floor. The rainbows shifted over her narrow leather boots as she passed. She could feel it on her face as well, warm and gentle as the kisses that glorified her childhood. The hallway was long as ever, but she still had a pang in her chest when she remembered how high the low arching ceiling had seemed when she was a little girl.

She hadn't wanted to agree to this. She hadn't wanted a lot of things, if she was being honest. But she cared about their kingdom, so skeletal, so ravaged by the still marks of war. And anyway, this wasn't confirming anything. It was just meeting someone, and seeing how it went. It was all in her hands from there. This wasn't an agreement.

When Emma had told her mother she could arrange a marriage - or a one-time meeting, at least – for her, she did it for the sake of Callendor. In her heart, she'd been married for a long time anyway. Honestly though, she couldn't see herself ever meeting with whoever Mother had found her more than just this once anyway.

The double doors leading into the chamber that had defined her for so long were advancing. Why all her important meetings happened there, she didn't know. Emma followed her mother towards them – it was strange. She was still very much Mother. Features soft, eyes full of unguarded pride, posture relaxed. She hadn't yet adopted the more formal stance of Queen Snow that she always did for important political matters like this. _Strange_. Emma stopped before pushing the doors open, closing her eyes and taking in a deep breath. She hadn't been in this room for years, avoided the dyed glass windows and painted ceiling; there were too many ghosts.

Emma steeled herself and shouldered open the doors.

They groaned on their rusting hinges as she entered, to a soft smudged blur of coloured light. Inside she could see her father, and Neal, and Henry. What they were all doing there she didn't know. And then Emma _saw,_ and all the broken pieces inside of her healed up.

Her breath caught in her throat like a snared animal. Emma turned around, staring at her mother with the question in her eyes. Snow just looked back at her with hopeful wide eyes and a small smile, and Emma was so flooded with love that she couldn't think properly anymore. Emma walked as if in a dream, soft footsteps drowned out by her aching heart, to the centre of the room where they'd met and changed everything, all those years ago. She could feel the hot wet tears stinging paths down her cheeks, her hair sticking to them, but everything had gone away.

Everything but the woman with the dark hair and the scar on her lip, standing with shining eyes in a blue dress, waiting for her.

And so, after one war and a life's worth of goodbyes, she met Regina as she had twenty five years ago. Quietly, in the rainbow light of the same room, with her parents looking on, and the sun burning high and hopeful above them.

Emma didn't remember going to her so fast but suddenly they were close, close enough for Emma's chest to cave in and grow back at the smell of apples and home. Close enough for her to see each dark eyelash, and the breath as it left her lips, her throat working as she swallowed. Close enough that the warmth of her skin reached hers. Tight throat constricting, Emma raised a hand tentatively to her skin. The feel of it beneath her fingers was warm and soft and familiar.

Whether for tradition or respect or because they were back in this room, Emma reached for Regina's hand, lifting it shakily. She touched her gently, fingers barely brushing hers as they wrapped loosely around them, she was so afraid of breaking her or turning her back to dust or waking herself up. Her eyes fell shut for a moment, tears slipping from beneath her eyelids and she brought her hand to her lips and kissed it tenderly, as she had done nearly twenty five years ago.

And then Regina sighed, and all of Emma's broken pieces fell back together.

She was real and here and staring up at her with her dark eyes shining and her beautiful face as overwhelmed as she felt. Emma tried to breathe in but there was no air. She looked hopelessly between her parents, her mother's teary eyes, her fathers' proud smile, and then back at _her_. "You..." She faltered. "The marriage, it..."

Regina stared up at her. "George's heir comes of age in a few weeks. I don't have to be queen anymore." She breathed in carefully. "I miss you. I love you, Emma. I always have. And all the bad stuff, that's gone now. We might finally have a chance to live. So I'm here." Regina swallowed, eyes shining with tears. "I'm here, if you want me."

Emma stared at her like she had all those years ago, when the were young and full of light. Back then she'd been thinking that she was pretty, and that she shouldn't have kissed her. She was still pretty, but if all of this had taught her anything it was that she _should_ have kissed her. She _should_ have set all this in motion. Because suddenly she knew, with irrevocable clarity, suddenly, fiercely _knew_ all that pain, all that suffering that had defined her adult life was _worth_ it. It had brought her to this moment now, hadn't it? Suddenly she realised.

 _I would rather spend a lifetime saying goodbye to you than live happily with anybody else._

Sighing, Emma lunged forward to wrap her arms snug around Regina's waist and her back, pulling her against her and burying her face in the top of her head. She released the breath she'd been holding for twenty five years, shaking but stronger than she'd ever been. Regina was warm and soft and right, everywhere they touched was alive again. She could feel her cheek pressed against her shoulder, her fingers curled against her. Her heart was beating like crazy, like a magnet and Regina's heart was pure gold.

They drew back at the same time, Regina raising her head to meet Emma's gaze. Emma pressed her lips to hers. The kiss was warm and tasted of tears. It lasted only a second but it held more than she could have thought possible. Emma smiled hopelessly at her, pushing Regina's hair from her face. "Always." She told her.

And with the ghost of their childhood laughter echoing off the walls, they walked together into whatever would come next.


End file.
